 | Poems and Plays |  |
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AN ESSAY ON PAINTING:
IN TWO EPISTLES TO Mr. ROMNEY.
Συγγενειαν τινα προς ποιητικην εχειν η τεχνη ευρισκεται, και κοινη τις αμφοιν ειναι φαντασια,
—α λεγειν οι ποιηται εχουσι ταυτα εν τω γραμματι σημαινουσα.
Philostratus.
---Patet omnibus Ars, nondum est occupata, multum ex illâ etiam futuris relictum est.
Senec. Epist. 33.
Senec. Epist. 33.
EPISTLE THE FIRST.
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ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST EPISTLE.
Introduction—The flourishing state of Art in this country—Disadvantages attending the modern Painter of Portraits—Short encomium on this branch of Art, with the account of its origin in the story of the Maid of Corinth—Superiority of Historical Painting—Some account of the Greeks who excelled in it—Its destruction and revival in Italy—Short account of the most eminent Italian and Spanish Painters—Those of Flanders and France—The corruption of Art among the latter.
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Blest be the hour, when fav'ring gales restore
The travell'd Artist to his native shore!
His mind enlighten'd, and his fancy fraught
With finest forms by ancient genius wrought;
Whose magic beauty charm'd, with spell sublime,
The scythe of Ruin from the hand of Time,
And mov'd the mighty leveller to spare
Models of grace so exquisitely fair.
The travell'd Artist to his native shore!
His mind enlighten'd, and his fancy fraught
With finest forms by ancient genius wrought;
Whose magic beauty charm'd, with spell sublime,
The scythe of Ruin from the hand of Time,
And mov'd the mighty leveller to spare
Models of grace so exquisitely fair.
While you, whom Painting thus inspir'd to roam,
Bring these rich stores of ripen'd judgment home;
While now, attending my accomplish'd friend,
Science and Taste his soften'd colours blend;
Let the fond Muse, tho' with a transient view,
The progress of her sister art pursue;
Eager in tracing from remotest time
The steps of Painting through each favour'd clime,
To praise her dearest sons, whose daring aim
Gain'd their bright stations on the heights of fame,
And mark the paths by which her partial hand
Conducts her Romney to this radiant band.
Bring these rich stores of ripen'd judgment home;
While now, attending my accomplish'd friend,
Science and Taste his soften'd colours blend;
Let the fond Muse, tho' with a transient view,
The progress of her sister art pursue;
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The steps of Painting through each favour'd clime,
To praise her dearest sons, whose daring aim
Gain'd their bright stations on the heights of fame,
And mark the paths by which her partial hand
Conducts her Romney to this radiant band.
Painting, sweet Nymph! now leaves in lifeless trance
Exhausted Italy and tinsel France,
And sees in Britain, with exulting eyes,
Her vot'ries prosper, and her glories rise.
Yet tho', my friend, thy art is thus carest,
And with the homage of the public blest,
And flourishes with growing beauty fair,
The child of Majesty's adoptive care,
The youthful artist still is doom'd to feel
Obstruction's chilling hand, that damps his zeal:
Th' imperious voice of Vanity and Pride
Bids him from Fancy's region turn aside,
And quit the magic of her scene, to trace
The vacant lines of some unmeaning face:
E'en in this work his wishes still are crost,
And all the efforts of his art are lost;
For when the canvas, with the mirror's truth,
Reflects the perfect form of age or youth,
The fond affections of the partial mind
The eye of judgment with delusion blind:
Each mother bids him brighter tints employ,
And give new spirit to her booby boy;
Nor can the painter, with his utmost art,
Express the image in the lover's heart:
Unconscious of the change the seasons bring,
Autumnal beauty asks the rose of spring,
And vain self-love, in every age the same,
Will fondly urge some visionary claim.
The luckless painter, destin'd to submit,
Mourns the lost likeness which he once had hit,
And, doom'd to groundless censure, bears alone
The grievous load of errors not his own.
Exhausted Italy and tinsel France,
And sees in Britain, with exulting eyes,
Her vot'ries prosper, and her glories rise.
Yet tho', my friend, thy art is thus carest,
And with the homage of the public blest,
And flourishes with growing beauty fair,
The child of Majesty's adoptive care,
The youthful artist still is doom'd to feel
Obstruction's chilling hand, that damps his zeal:
Th' imperious voice of Vanity and Pride
Bids him from Fancy's region turn aside,
And quit the magic of her scene, to trace
The vacant lines of some unmeaning face:
E'en in this work his wishes still are crost,
And all the efforts of his art are lost;
For when the canvas, with the mirror's truth,
Reflects the perfect form of age or youth,
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The eye of judgment with delusion blind:
Each mother bids him brighter tints employ,
And give new spirit to her booby boy;
Nor can the painter, with his utmost art,
Express the image in the lover's heart:
Unconscious of the change the seasons bring,
Autumnal beauty asks the rose of spring,
And vain self-love, in every age the same,
Will fondly urge some visionary claim.
The luckless painter, destin'd to submit,
Mourns the lost likeness which he once had hit,
And, doom'd to groundless censure, bears alone
The grievous load of errors not his own.
Nor is it Pride, or Folly's vain command,
That only fetters his creative hand;
At Fashion's nod he copies as they pass
Each quaint reflection from her crowded glass.
The formal coat, with intersecting line,
Mars the free graces of his fair design;
The towering cap he marks with like distress,
And all the motley mass of female dress.
The hoop extended with enormous size,
The corks that like a promontory rise;
The stays of deadly steel, in whose embrace
The tyrant Fashion tortures injur'd Grace.
But Art, despairing over shapes like these
To cast an air of elegance and ease,
Invokes kind Fancy's aid—she comes to spread
Her magic spells—the Gothic forms are fled;
And see, to crown the painter's just desire,
Her free positions, and her light attire!
Th' ambitious artist wishes to pursue
This brilliant plan with more extensive view,
And with adopted character to give
A lasting charm to make the portrait live;
All points of art by one nice effort gain,
Delight the learned, and content the vain;
Make history to life new value lend,
And in the comprehensive picture blend
The ancient hero with the living friend.
Most fair device! “but, ah! what foes to sense,
What broods of motley monsters rise from hence!”
The strange pretensions of each age and sex
These plans of fancy and of taste perplex;
For male and female, to themselves unknown,
Demand a character unlike their own,
Till oft the painter to this quaint distress
Prefers the awkward shapes of common dress.
Sweet girls, of mild and pensive softness, choose
The sportive emblems of the comic Muse;
And sprightly damsels are inclin'd to borrow
The garb of penitence, and tears of sorrow:
While awkward pride, tho' safe from war's alarms,
Round his plump body buckles ancient arms,
And, from an honest justice of the peace,
Starts up at once a demi-god of Greece;
Too firm of heart by ridicule to fall,
The finish'd hero crowns his country hall,
Ordain'd to fill, if fire his glory spare,
The lumber-garret of his wiser heir.
Not less absurd to flatter Nero's eyes
Arose the portrait of colossal size:
Twice fifty feet th' enormous sheet was spread,
To lift o'er gazing slaves the monster's head,
When impious Folly sway'd Oppression's rod,
And servile Rome ador'd the mimic God.
That only fetters his creative hand;
At Fashion's nod he copies as they pass
Each quaint reflection from her crowded glass.
The formal coat, with intersecting line,
Mars the free graces of his fair design;
The towering cap he marks with like distress,
And all the motley mass of female dress.
The hoop extended with enormous size,
The corks that like a promontory rise;
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The tyrant Fashion tortures injur'd Grace.
But Art, despairing over shapes like these
To cast an air of elegance and ease,
Invokes kind Fancy's aid—she comes to spread
Her magic spells—the Gothic forms are fled;
And see, to crown the painter's just desire,
Her free positions, and her light attire!
Th' ambitious artist wishes to pursue
This brilliant plan with more extensive view,
And with adopted character to give
A lasting charm to make the portrait live;
All points of art by one nice effort gain,
Delight the learned, and content the vain;
Make history to life new value lend,
And in the comprehensive picture blend
The ancient hero with the living friend.
Most fair device! “but, ah! what foes to sense,
What broods of motley monsters rise from hence!”
The strange pretensions of each age and sex
These plans of fancy and of taste perplex;
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Demand a character unlike their own,
Till oft the painter to this quaint distress
Prefers the awkward shapes of common dress.
Sweet girls, of mild and pensive softness, choose
The sportive emblems of the comic Muse;
And sprightly damsels are inclin'd to borrow
The garb of penitence, and tears of sorrow:
While awkward pride, tho' safe from war's alarms,
Round his plump body buckles ancient arms,
And, from an honest justice of the peace,
Starts up at once a demi-god of Greece;
Too firm of heart by ridicule to fall,
The finish'd hero crowns his country hall,
Ordain'd to fill, if fire his glory spare,
The lumber-garret of his wiser heir.
Not less absurd to flatter Nero's eyes
Arose the portrait of colossal size:
Twice fifty feet th' enormous sheet was spread,
To lift o'er gazing slaves the monster's head,
When impious Folly sway'd Oppression's rod,
And servile Rome ador'd the mimic God.
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Think not, my friend, with supercilious air,
I rank the portrait as beneath thy care.
Blest be the pencil! which from death can save
The semblance of the virtuous, wife, and brave;
That youth and emulation still may gaze
On those inspiring forms of ancient days,
And, from the force of bright example bold,
Rival their worth, “and be what they behold.”
Blest be the pencil! whose consoling pow'r,
Soothing soft Friendship in her pensive hour,
Dispels the cloud, with melancholy fraught,
That absence throws upon her tender thought.
Blest be the pencil! whose enchantment gives
To wounded Love the food on which he lives.
Rich in this gift, tho' cruel ocean bear
The youth to exile from his faithful fair,
He in fond dreams hangs o'er her glowing cheek,
Still owns her present, and still hears her speak:
Oh! Love, it was thy glory to impart
Its infant being to this magic art!
Inspir'd by thee, the soft Corinthian maid
Her graceful lover's sleeping form portray'd:
Her boding heart his near departure knew,
Yet long'd to keep his image in her view:
Pleas'd she beheld the steady shadow fall,
By the clear lamp upon the even wall:
The line she trac'd with fond precision true,
And, drawing, doated on the form she drew;
Nor, as she glow'd with no forbidden fire,
Conccal'd the simple picture from her sire:
His kindred fancy, still to nature just,
Copied her line, and form'd the mimic bust.
Thus from thy power, inspiring Love, we trace
The modell'd image, and the pencil'd face!
I rank the portrait as beneath thy care.
Blest be the pencil! which from death can save
The semblance of the virtuous, wife, and brave;
That youth and emulation still may gaze
On those inspiring forms of ancient days,
And, from the force of bright example bold,
Rival their worth, “and be what they behold.”
Blest be the pencil! whose consoling pow'r,
Soothing soft Friendship in her pensive hour,
Dispels the cloud, with melancholy fraught,
That absence throws upon her tender thought.
Blest be the pencil! whose enchantment gives
To wounded Love the food on which he lives.
Rich in this gift, tho' cruel ocean bear
The youth to exile from his faithful fair,
He in fond dreams hangs o'er her glowing cheek,
Still owns her present, and still hears her speak:
Oh! Love, it was thy glory to impart
Its infant being to this magic art!
Inspir'd by thee, the soft Corinthian maid
Her graceful lover's sleeping form portray'd:
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Yet long'd to keep his image in her view:
Pleas'd she beheld the steady shadow fall,
By the clear lamp upon the even wall:
The line she trac'd with fond precision true,
And, drawing, doated on the form she drew;
Nor, as she glow'd with no forbidden fire,
Conccal'd the simple picture from her sire:
His kindred fancy, still to nature just,
Copied her line, and form'd the mimic bust.
Thus from thy power, inspiring Love, we trace
The modell'd image, and the pencil'd face!
We pity Genius, when, by interest led,
His toils but reach the semblance of a head;
Yet are those censures too severe and vain,
That scorn the Portrait as the Painter's bane.
Tho' up the mountain winds the arduous road
That leads to pure Perfection's bright abode,
In humbler walks some tempting laurels grow,
Some flowers are gather'd in the vale below:
Youth on the plain collects increasing force,
To climb the steep in his meridian course.
While Nature sees her living models share
The rising artist's unremitting care,
She on his mind her every charm imprints,
Her easy postures, and her perfect tints,
Till his quick pencil, in maturer hour,
Becomes her rival in creative power.
His toils but reach the semblance of a head;
Yet are those censures too severe and vain,
That scorn the Portrait as the Painter's bane.
Tho' up the mountain winds the arduous road
That leads to pure Perfection's bright abode,
In humbler walks some tempting laurels grow,
Some flowers are gather'd in the vale below:
Youth on the plain collects increasing force,
To climb the steep in his meridian course.
While Nature sees her living models share
The rising artist's unremitting care,
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Her easy postures, and her perfect tints,
Till his quick pencil, in maturer hour,
Becomes her rival in creative power.
Yet in these paths disdain a long delay,
While eager Genius points a nobler way:
For see! expanding to thy raptur'd gaze,
The epic field a brighter scene displays!
Here stands the temple, where, to merit true,
Fame gives her laurel to the favour'd few:
Whose minds, illumin'd with cœlestial fire,
Direct the pencil, or awake the lyre;
Who trace the springs of nature to their source,
And by her guidance, with resistless force,
The tides of error and of transport roll
Thro' every channel of the human soul!
While eager Genius points a nobler way:
For see! expanding to thy raptur'd gaze,
The epic field a brighter scene displays!
Here stands the temple, where, to merit true,
Fame gives her laurel to the favour'd few:
Whose minds, illumin'd with cœlestial fire,
Direct the pencil, or awake the lyre;
Who trace the springs of nature to their source,
And by her guidance, with resistless force,
The tides of error and of transport roll
Thro' every channel of the human soul!
How few, my friend, tho' millions boast the aim,
Leave in this temple an unclouded name!
Vain the attempt, in every age and clime,
Without the slow conductors toil and time;
Without that secret, soul-impelling power,
Infus'd by Genius in the natal hour;
And vain with these, if bright occasion's ray
Fail to illuminate the doubtful way.
Leave in this temple an unclouded name!
Vain the attempt, in every age and clime,
Without the slow conductors toil and time;
Without that secret, soul-impelling power,
Infus'd by Genius in the natal hour;
And vain with these, if bright occasion's ray
Fail to illuminate the doubtful way.
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The elders of thy art ordain'd to stand
In the first circle of this honour'd band,
(Whose pencil, striving for the noblest praise,
The heart to soften and the mind to raise,
Gave life and manners to the finish'd piece)
These sons of glory were the sons of Greece!
Hail! throne of genius, hail! what mighty hand
Form'd the bright offspring of this famous land?
First in the annals of the world they shine:
Such gifts, O Liberty, are only thine;
Thy vital fires thro' kindling spirits run,
Thou soul of life, thou intellectual sun;
Thy rays call forth, profuse and unconfin'd,
The richest produce of the human mind.
First taught by thee, the Grecian pencil wrought
The forceful lessons of exalted thought,
And generously gave, at glory's call,
The patriot picture to the public hall.
In the first circle of this honour'd band,
(Whose pencil, striving for the noblest praise,
The heart to soften and the mind to raise,
Gave life and manners to the finish'd piece)
These sons of glory were the sons of Greece!
Hail! throne of genius, hail! what mighty hand
Form'd the bright offspring of this famous land?
First in the annals of the world they shine:
Such gifts, O Liberty, are only thine;
Thy vital fires thro' kindling spirits run,
Thou soul of life, thou intellectual sun;
Thy rays call forth, profuse and unconfin'd,
The richest produce of the human mind.
First taught by thee, the Grecian pencil wrought
The forceful lessons of exalted thought,
And generously gave, at glory's call,
The patriot picture to the public hall.
'Twas then Panæus drew, with freedom's train,
The Chief of Marathon's immortal plain,
In glorious triumph o'er the mighty host
That Persia pour'd in torrents on their coast.
The Chief of Marathon's immortal plain,
In glorious triumph o'er the mighty host
That Persia pour'd in torrents on their coast.
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There Polygnotus, scorning servile hire,
Display'd th' embattled scene from Homer's lyre.
His country view'd the gift with fond regard,
And rank'd the painter with their noblest bard.
Display'd th' embattled scene from Homer's lyre.
His country view'd the gift with fond regard,
And rank'd the painter with their noblest bard.
Thy tragic pencil, Aristides, caught
Each varied feeling, and each tender thought;
While moral virtue sanctified thy art,
And passion gave it empire o'er the heart.
Each varied feeling, and each tender thought;
While moral virtue sanctified thy art,
And passion gave it empire o'er the heart.
Correct Parrhasius first to rich design
Gave nice proportion, and the melting line,
Whose soft extremes from observation fly,
And with ideal distance cheat the eye.
Gave nice proportion, and the melting line,
Whose soft extremes from observation fly,
And with ideal distance cheat the eye.
The gay, the warm, licentious Zeuxis drew
Voluptuous Beauty in her richest hue:
Bade in one form her scatter'd rays unite,
And charm'd the view with their collected light.
Voluptuous Beauty in her richest hue:
Bade in one form her scatter'd rays unite,
And charm'd the view with their collected light.
But Grace consign'd, while her fair works he plann'd,
Her softest pencil to Apelles' hand:
Yet oft to gain sublimer heights he strove,
Such strong expression mark'd his mimic Jove,
Inimitably great he seem'd to tower,
And pass the limits of the pencil's power.
Her softest pencil to Apelles' hand:
Yet oft to gain sublimer heights he strove,
Such strong expression mark'd his mimic Jove,
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And pass the limits of the pencil's power.
Ye sons of art, tho' on the gulph of years
No floating relic of your toil appears,
Yet glory shews, in every cultur'd clime,
Your names still radiant thro' the clouds of time.
No floating relic of your toil appears,
Yet glory shews, in every cultur'd clime,
Your names still radiant thro' the clouds of time.
Thy pride, O Rome, inclin'd thee to abhor
Each work that call'd thee from thy sphere of war:
By Freedom train'd, and favour'd by the Nine,
The powers of eloquence and verse were thine,
While chilling damps upon the pencil hung,
Where Tully thunder'd and where Virgil sung,
Yet Grecian artists had the splendid fate
To triumph o'er the Romans' scornful hate.
Their matchless works profusion toil'd to buy,
Their wonders glitter'd in the public eye,
Till Rome's terrific pomp, and letter'd pride,
Were sunk in Desolation's whelming tide.
Each work that call'd thee from thy sphere of war:
By Freedom train'd, and favour'd by the Nine,
The powers of eloquence and verse were thine,
While chilling damps upon the pencil hung,
Where Tully thunder'd and where Virgil sung,
Yet Grecian artists had the splendid fate
To triumph o'er the Romans' scornful hate.
Their matchless works profusion toil'd to buy,
Their wonders glitter'd in the public eye,
Till Rome's terrific pomp, and letter'd pride,
Were sunk in Desolation's whelming tide.
Oh! lovely Painting! long thy cheering light
Was lost and buried in barbaric night;
The furious rage of Anarchy effac'd
Each hallow'd character thy hand had trac'd,
And Ign'rance, mutt'ring in her monkish cell,
Bound thy free soul in her lethargic spell.
Was lost and buried in barbaric night;
The furious rage of Anarchy effac'd
Each hallow'd character thy hand had trac'd,
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Bound thy free soul in her lethargic spell.
At length from this long trance thy spirit rose,
In that sweet vale where silver Arno flows;
There studious Vinci treasur'd every rule,
To form the basis of a rising school:
Like early Hesiod, 'twas his fate to shine,
The herald of a master more divine.
In that sweet vale where silver Arno flows;
There studious Vinci treasur'd every rule,
To form the basis of a rising school:
Like early Hesiod, 'twas his fate to shine,
The herald of a master more divine.
Inflam'd by Genius with sublimest rage,
By toil unwearied, and unchill'd by age,
In the fine phrenzy of exalted thought
Gigantic Angelo his wonders wrought;
And high, by native strength of spirit rais'd,
The mighty Homer of the pencil blaz'd.
By toil unwearied, and unchill'd by age,
In the fine phrenzy of exalted thought
Gigantic Angelo his wonders wrought;
And high, by native strength of spirit rais'd,
The mighty Homer of the pencil blaz'd.
Taste, Fancy, Judgment, all on Raphael smil'd,
Of Grandeur and of Grace the darling child:
Truth, passion, character, his constant aim,
Both in the human and the heavenly frame,
Th' enchanting painter rules the willing heart,
And shines the finish'd Virgil of his art.
Of Grandeur and of Grace the darling child:
Truth, passion, character, his constant aim,
Both in the human and the heavenly frame,
Th' enchanting painter rules the willing heart,
And shines the finish'd Virgil of his art.
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The daring Julio, tho' by Raphael train'd,
Reach'd not the summit where his master reign'd;
Yet to no common heights of epic fame
True Genius guided his adventurous aim.
Thus Statius, fraught with emulous regard,
Caught not the spirit of the Mantuan bard:
Tho' rival ardour his ambition fir'd,
And kindred talents his bold verse inspir'd.
Reach'd not the summit where his master reign'd;
Yet to no common heights of epic fame
True Genius guided his adventurous aim.
Thus Statius, fraught with emulous regard,
Caught not the spirit of the Mantuan bard:
Tho' rival ardour his ambition fir'd,
And kindred talents his bold verse inspir'd.
More richly warm, the glowing Titian knew
To blend with Nature's truth the living hue:
O! had sublime design his colours crown'd!
Then had the world a finish'd painter found:
With powers to seize the highest branch of art,
He fix'd too fondly on an humbler part;
Yet this low object of his partial care
Grew from his toil so exquisitely fair,
That dazzled judgment, with suspended voice,
Fears to condemn the error of his choice.
Thus pleas'd a flowery valley to explore,
Whence never Poet cull'd a wreath before,
Lucretius chose the epic crown to lose
For the bright chaplets of an humbler muse.
To blend with Nature's truth the living hue:
O! had sublime design his colours crown'd!
Then had the world a finish'd painter found:
With powers to seize the highest branch of art,
He fix'd too fondly on an humbler part;
Yet this low object of his partial care
Grew from his toil so exquisitely fair,
That dazzled judgment, with suspended voice,
Fears to condemn the error of his choice.
Thus pleas'd a flowery valley to explore,
Whence never Poet cull'd a wreath before,
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For the bright chaplets of an humbler muse.
Soft as Catullus, sweet Corregio play'd
With all the magic charms of light and shade.
Tho' Parma claim it for her rival son,
The praise of sweetest grace thy pencil won:
Unhappy Genius! tho' of skill divine,
Unjust neglect and penury were thine.
Lamenting o'er thy labours unrepaid,
Afflicted Art opprest with wrongs decay'd,
Till with pure judgment the Caracci came,
And, raising her weak powers and sinking frame,
Reclaim'd the pencil of misguided youth
From Affectation's glare to tints of modest Truth.
They form'd the Pencil, to whose infant fame
Young Zampieri ow'd his nobler name:
Profoundly skill'd his figures to dispose,
The learned Lanfranc in their school arose,
And, train'd to glory, by their forming care,
The tender Guido caught his graceful air.
With all the magic charms of light and shade.
Tho' Parma claim it for her rival son,
The praise of sweetest grace thy pencil won:
Unhappy Genius! tho' of skill divine,
Unjust neglect and penury were thine.
Lamenting o'er thy labours unrepaid,
Afflicted Art opprest with wrongs decay'd,
Till with pure judgment the Caracci came,
And, raising her weak powers and sinking frame,
Reclaim'd the pencil of misguided youth
From Affectation's glare to tints of modest Truth.
They form'd the Pencil, to whose infant fame
Young Zampieri ow'd his nobler name:
Profoundly skill'd his figures to dispose,
The learned Lanfranc in their school arose,
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The tender Guido caught his graceful air.
Nor shall ye fail your well-earn'd praise to gain,
Ye! who adorn'd with art your native Spain!
The unfrequented shore, that gave you birth,
Tempts not the faithful Muse to hide your worth:
Just to all regions, let her voice proclaim
Titian's mute scholar, rival of his fame.
The power, that Nature to his lips denied,
Indulgent Art, with fonder care, supplied:
The cruel bar his happy genius broke;
Tho' dumb the painter, all his pictures spoke.
Ye! who adorn'd with art your native Spain!
The unfrequented shore, that gave you birth,
Tempts not the faithful Muse to hide your worth:
Just to all regions, let her voice proclaim
Titian's mute scholar, rival of his fame.
The power, that Nature to his lips denied,
Indulgent Art, with fonder care, supplied:
The cruel bar his happy genius broke;
Tho' dumb the painter, all his pictures spoke.
And thou, Velasquez, share the honour due
To forceful tints, that fascinate the view!
Thy bold illusive talents soar'd so high,
They mock'd, with mimic life, the cheated eye.
Thou liberal artist! 'twas thy praise to guide
Thy happy scholar with parental pride;
Thy care the soft, the rich Murillo form'd,
And, as thy precept taught, thy friendship warm'd.
Yet other names, and not a scanty band!
Have added lustre to th' Iberian land;
But generous Italy, thy genial earth
Superior numbers bore of splendid worth!
And rais'd amidst them, in thy golden days,
No mean historian to record their praise.
To forceful tints, that fascinate the view!
Thy bold illusive talents soar'd so high,
They mock'd, with mimic life, the cheated eye.
Thou liberal artist! 'twas thy praise to guide
Thy happy scholar with parental pride;
Thy care the soft, the rich Murillo form'd,
And, as thy precept taught, thy friendship warm'd.
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Have added lustre to th' Iberian land;
But generous Italy, thy genial earth
Superior numbers bore of splendid worth!
And rais'd amidst them, in thy golden days,
No mean historian to record their praise.
On Thee, whom Art, thy patroness and pride,
Taught both the pencil and the pen to guide;
Whose generous zeal and modest truth have known
To blazon others' skill, not boast thy own;
On thee, Vasari, let my verse bestow
That just applause, so freely seen to flow
From thy ingenuous heart and liberal hand,
To each great artist of thy native land!
Tho' many shine in thy elaborate page,
And more have risen since thy distant age,
Their various talents, and their different fame,
The Muse, unskilful, must decline to name,
Lest in the nice attempt her judgment fail
To poise their merits in Precision's scale.
Taught both the pencil and the pen to guide;
Whose generous zeal and modest truth have known
To blazon others' skill, not boast thy own;
On thee, Vasari, let my verse bestow
That just applause, so freely seen to flow
From thy ingenuous heart and liberal hand,
To each great artist of thy native land!
Tho' many shine in thy elaborate page,
And more have risen since thy distant age,
Their various talents, and their different fame,
The Muse, unskilful, must decline to name,
Lest in the nice attempt her judgment fail
To poise their merits in Precision's scale.
E'en public Taste, by no determin'd rule,
Has class'd the merit of each nobler school:
To Rome and Florence, in Expression strong,
The highest honours of Design belong;
On her pure Style see mild Bologna claim
Her fairest right to secondary fame;
Tho' prouder Venice would usurp that praise,
Upon the splendid force of Titian's golden rays.
But ill they know the value of their art,
Who, flattering the eye, neglect the heart.
Tho' matchless tints a lasting name secure,
Tho' strong the magic of the clear-obscure,
These must submit, as a dependant part,
To pure Design, the very soul of Art;
Or Fame, misguided, must invert her course,
And Raphael's Grace must yield to Rembrandt's Force;
Fancy's bold thought to Labour's patient touch,
And Rome's exalted genius to the Dutch.
Yet, Holland, thy unwearied labours raise
A perfect title to peculiar praise:
Thy hum'rous pencil shuns the epic field,
The blazing falchion, and the sanguine shield;
But hap'ly marks the group of rural Mirth,
In social circle round the chearful hearth;
And rustic Joy, from busy cares releas'd,
To the gay gambols of the village feast:
While Nature smiles her very faults to view,
Trac'd with a skill so exquisitely true.
These faults, O Rembrandt, 'twas thy praise to hide!
New pow'rs of Art thy fertile mind supplied;
With dazzling force thy gorgeous colouring glows,
And o'er each scene an air of grandeur throws:
The meanest Figures dignity assume,
From thy contrasted light, and magic gloom.
These strong illusions are supremely thine,
And laugh at Imitation's vague design:
So near to blemishes thy beauties run,
Those who affect thy splendor are undone:
While thy rash rivals, loose and incorrect,
Miscall their shadowy want of truth Effect,
And into paths of affectation start:
Neglect of Nature is the bane of Art.
Proud of the praise by Rubens' pencil won,
Let Flanders boast her bold inventive son!
Whose glowing hues magnificently shine
With warmth congenial to his rich design:
And him, her second pride, whose milder care
From living Beauty caught its loveliest air!
Who truth of character with grace combin'd,
And in the speaking feature mark'd the mind,
Her soft Vandyke, while graceful portraits please,
Shall reign the model of unrivall'd ease.
Painting shall tell, with many a grateful thought,
From Flanders first the secret pow'r she caught,
To grace and guard the offspring of her toil,
With all the virtues of enduring oil;
Tho' charm'd by Italy's alluring views,
(Where sumptuous Leo courted every Muse,
And lovely Science grew the public care)
She fix'd the glories of her empire there;
There in her zenith soon she ceas'd to shine,
And dated, passing her meridan line,
From the Caracci's death her period of decline.
Yet in her gloomy and disgraceful hour
Of faded beauty, and enfeebled power,
With talents flowing in free Nature's course,
With just exertion of unborrow'd force,
Untrodden paths of art Salvator tried,
And daring Fancy was his favourite guide.
O'er his wild rocks, at her command, he throws
A savage grandeur, and sublime repose;
Or gives th' historic scene a charm as strong
As the terrific gloom of Dante's song.
His bold ideas, unrefin'd by taste,
Express'd with vigour, tho' conceiv'd in haste,
Before slow judgment their defects can find,
With awful pleasure fill the passive mind.
Nor could one art, with various beauty fraught,
Engross the ardor of his active thought:
His pencil pausing, with satiric fire
He struck the chords of the congenial lyre;
By generous verse attempting to reclaim
The meaner artist from each abject aim.
But vain his satire! his example vain!
Degraded Painting sinks with many a stain:
Her clouded beams, from Italy withdrawn,
On colder France with transient lustre dawn.
There, in the arms of Roman science nurs'd,
In every work of ancient genius vers'd,
The sage Poussin, with purest fancy fraught,
Portray'd the classic scene, as Learning taught:
But Nature, jealous of her sacred right,
And piqu'd that his idolatry should slight
Her glowing graces, and her living air,
To worship marble with a fonder care,
Denied his pencil, in its mimic strife,
The bloom of beauty, and the warmth of life.
Has class'd the merit of each nobler school:
19
The highest honours of Design belong;
On her pure Style see mild Bologna claim
Her fairest right to secondary fame;
Tho' prouder Venice would usurp that praise,
Upon the splendid force of Titian's golden rays.
But ill they know the value of their art,
Who, flattering the eye, neglect the heart.
Tho' matchless tints a lasting name secure,
Tho' strong the magic of the clear-obscure,
These must submit, as a dependant part,
To pure Design, the very soul of Art;
Or Fame, misguided, must invert her course,
And Raphael's Grace must yield to Rembrandt's Force;
Fancy's bold thought to Labour's patient touch,
And Rome's exalted genius to the Dutch.
Yet, Holland, thy unwearied labours raise
A perfect title to peculiar praise:
Thy hum'rous pencil shuns the epic field,
The blazing falchion, and the sanguine shield;
20
In social circle round the chearful hearth;
And rustic Joy, from busy cares releas'd,
To the gay gambols of the village feast:
While Nature smiles her very faults to view,
Trac'd with a skill so exquisitely true.
These faults, O Rembrandt, 'twas thy praise to hide!
New pow'rs of Art thy fertile mind supplied;
With dazzling force thy gorgeous colouring glows,
And o'er each scene an air of grandeur throws:
The meanest Figures dignity assume,
From thy contrasted light, and magic gloom.
These strong illusions are supremely thine,
And laugh at Imitation's vague design:
So near to blemishes thy beauties run,
Those who affect thy splendor are undone:
While thy rash rivals, loose and incorrect,
Miscall their shadowy want of truth Effect,
And into paths of affectation start:
Neglect of Nature is the bane of Art.
Proud of the praise by Rubens' pencil won,
Let Flanders boast her bold inventive son!
21
With warmth congenial to his rich design:
And him, her second pride, whose milder care
From living Beauty caught its loveliest air!
Who truth of character with grace combin'd,
And in the speaking feature mark'd the mind,
Her soft Vandyke, while graceful portraits please,
Shall reign the model of unrivall'd ease.
Painting shall tell, with many a grateful thought,
From Flanders first the secret pow'r she caught,
To grace and guard the offspring of her toil,
With all the virtues of enduring oil;
Tho' charm'd by Italy's alluring views,
(Where sumptuous Leo courted every Muse,
And lovely Science grew the public care)
She fix'd the glories of her empire there;
There in her zenith soon she ceas'd to shine,
And dated, passing her meridan line,
From the Caracci's death her period of decline.
Yet in her gloomy and disgraceful hour
Of faded beauty, and enfeebled power,
22
With just exertion of unborrow'd force,
Untrodden paths of art Salvator tried,
And daring Fancy was his favourite guide.
O'er his wild rocks, at her command, he throws
A savage grandeur, and sublime repose;
Or gives th' historic scene a charm as strong
As the terrific gloom of Dante's song.
His bold ideas, unrefin'd by taste,
Express'd with vigour, tho' conceiv'd in haste,
Before slow judgment their defects can find,
With awful pleasure fill the passive mind.
Nor could one art, with various beauty fraught,
Engross the ardor of his active thought:
His pencil pausing, with satiric fire
He struck the chords of the congenial lyre;
By generous verse attempting to reclaim
The meaner artist from each abject aim.
But vain his satire! his example vain!
Degraded Painting sinks with many a stain:
Her clouded beams, from Italy withdrawn,
On colder France with transient lustre dawn.
23
In every work of ancient genius vers'd,
The sage Poussin, with purest fancy fraught,
Portray'd the classic scene, as Learning taught:
But Nature, jealous of her sacred right,
And piqu'd that his idolatry should slight
Her glowing graces, and her living air,
To worship marble with a fonder care,
Denied his pencil, in its mimic strife,
The bloom of beauty, and the warmth of life.
Then rose Le Brun, his scholar, and his friend,
More justly skill'd the vivid tints to blend;
Tho' with exalted spirit he present
The generous victor in the suppliant tent,
Too oft the genius of his gaudy clime
Misled his pencil from the pure sublime.
More justly skill'd the vivid tints to blend;
Tho' with exalted spirit he present
The generous victor in the suppliant tent,
Too oft the genius of his gaudy clime
Misled his pencil from the pure sublime.
Thy dawn, Le Sueur, announc'd a happier taste,
With fancy glowing, and with judgment chaste:
But Art, who gloried in thy rising bloom,
Shed fruitless tears upon thy early tomb.
With fancy glowing, and with judgment chaste:
But Art, who gloried in thy rising bloom,
Shed fruitless tears upon thy early tomb.
24
These lights withdrawn, Confusion and Misrule
Seize the vain pencil of the Gallic school:
Tho' Fresnoy teaches, in Horatian song,
The laws and limits that to Art belong;
In vain he strives, with Attic judgment chaste,
To crush the monsters of corrupted taste:
With ineffectual fire the poet sings,
Prolific still the wounded Hydra springs:
Gods roll'd on gods encumber every hall,
And saints, convulsive, o'er the chapel sprawl.
Bombast is Grandeur, Affectation Grace,
Beauty's soft smile is turn'd to pert grimace;
Loaded with dress, supremely fine advance
Old Homer's heroes, with the airs of France.
Indignant Art disclaim'd the motley crew,
Resign'd their empire, and to Britain flew.
Seize the vain pencil of the Gallic school:
Tho' Fresnoy teaches, in Horatian song,
The laws and limits that to Art belong;
In vain he strives, with Attic judgment chaste,
To crush the monsters of corrupted taste:
With ineffectual fire the poet sings,
Prolific still the wounded Hydra springs:
Gods roll'd on gods encumber every hall,
And saints, convulsive, o'er the chapel sprawl.
Bombast is Grandeur, Affectation Grace,
Beauty's soft smile is turn'd to pert grimace;
Loaded with dress, supremely fine advance
Old Homer's heroes, with the airs of France.
Indignant Art disclaim'd the motley crew,
Resign'd their empire, and to Britain flew.
END OF THE FIRST EPISTLE.
25
EPISTLE THE SECOND.
26
ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND EPISTLE.
The rise of Painting in England, and the reasons for its happening so late.—The rapidity of its improvement. —A slight sketch of the most eminent living Artists in England.—The author's wish to see his friend among the first of that number—His reasons for hoping it. —The reputation of a Painter in some degree owing to a happy choice of subjects—A few recommended from national events—and from Milton and Shakespeare. —Conclusion.—Author's wishes for his friend's success.
27
Ingenuous Romney, whom thy merits raise
To the pure summits of unclouded praise;
Whom Art has chosen, with successful hand,
To spread her empire o'er this honour'd land;
Thy Progress Friendship with delight surveys,
And this pure Homage to thy Goddess pays.
Hail! heavenly Visitant! whose cheering powers
E'en to the happy give still happier hours!
O! next to Freedom, and the Muse, design'd
To raise, ennoble, and adorn mankind!
At length we view thee in this favor'd Isle,
That greets thy presence, and deserves thy smile:
This favor'd Isle, in native Freedom bold,
And rich in Spirit as thy Greeks of old.
To the pure summits of unclouded praise;
Whom Art has chosen, with successful hand,
To spread her empire o'er this honour'd land;
Thy Progress Friendship with delight surveys,
And this pure Homage to thy Goddess pays.
Hail! heavenly Visitant! whose cheering powers
E'en to the happy give still happier hours!
O! next to Freedom, and the Muse, design'd
To raise, ennoble, and adorn mankind!
At length we view thee in this favor'd Isle,
That greets thy presence, and deserves thy smile:
This favor'd Isle, in native Freedom bold,
And rich in Spirit as thy Greeks of old.
28
Tho' foreign Theorists, with System blind,
Prescribe false limits to the British mind,
And, warp'd by Vanity, presume to hold
Our northern Genius dark, confin'd, and cold:
Painting, sweet Nymph, unconscious of their chain,
In this fair Island forms her new Domain,
And freely gives to Britain's eager view
Those charms which once her fav'rite Athens knew.
Prescribe false limits to the British mind,
And, warp'd by Vanity, presume to hold
Our northern Genius dark, confin'd, and cold:
Painting, sweet Nymph, unconscious of their chain,
In this fair Island forms her new Domain,
And freely gives to Britain's eager view
Those charms which once her fav'rite Athens knew.
'Tis true, when Painting, on Italia's shore,
Display'd those Graces which all Realms adore,
No kindred forms of English growth appear;
Age after age the hapless Pencil here
Dropt unsuccessful from the Native's hand,
And fail'd to decorate this darker Land.
But freely let impartial History say,
Why Art on Britain shone with later ray.
Display'd those Graces which all Realms adore,
No kindred forms of English growth appear;
Age after age the hapless Pencil here
Dropt unsuccessful from the Native's hand,
And fail'd to decorate this darker Land.
But freely let impartial History say,
Why Art on Britain shone with later ray.
When on this Isle, the Gothic clouds withdrawn,
The distant light of Painting seem'd to dawn,
Fierce Harry reign'd, who, soon with pleasure cloy'd,
Now lov'd, now scorn'd, now worshipp'd, now destroy'd.
Thee as his Wives, enchanting Art! he priz'd,
Now sought to crown thee, now thy death devis'd:
Now strove to fix, with liberal support,
Thy darling Raphael in his sumptuous Court;
Now o'er the hallow'd shrines thy hand had grac'd,
“Cried havock, and let slip the Dogs of Waste.”
When timid Art saw ruin his delight,
She fled in terror from the Tyrant's sight.
The distant light of Painting seem'd to dawn,
Fierce Harry reign'd, who, soon with pleasure cloy'd,
Now lov'd, now scorn'd, now worshipp'd, now destroy'd.
29
Now sought to crown thee, now thy death devis'd:
Now strove to fix, with liberal support,
Thy darling Raphael in his sumptuous Court;
Now o'er the hallow'd shrines thy hand had grac'd,
“Cried havock, and let slip the Dogs of Waste.”
When timid Art saw ruin his delight,
She fled in terror from the Tyrant's sight.
The Virgin Queen, whom dazzled eyes admire,
The subtle Child of this imperious Sire,
Untaught the moral force of Art to feel,
Proscrib'd it as the slave of bigot Zeal;
Or doom'd it, throwing nobler works aside,
To drudge in flatt'ring her fantastic Pride:
And hence the Epic pencil in the shade
Of blank neglect and cold obstruction laid,
E'en while the Fairy-sprite, and Muse of fire,
Hung high in Glory's hall the English lyre.
The subtle Child of this imperious Sire,
Untaught the moral force of Art to feel,
Proscrib'd it as the slave of bigot Zeal;
Or doom'd it, throwing nobler works aside,
To drudge in flatt'ring her fantastic Pride:
And hence the Epic pencil in the shade
Of blank neglect and cold obstruction laid,
E'en while the Fairy-sprite, and Muse of fire,
Hung high in Glory's hall the English lyre.
James, both for Empire and for Arts unfit,
(His sense a quibble, and a pun his wit)
Whatever works he patroniz'd debas'd,
But haply left the Pencil undisgrac'd.
(His sense a quibble, and a pun his wit)
Whatever works he patroniz'd debas'd,
But haply left the Pencil undisgrac'd.
30
With fairer mind arose his nobler Son,
Seduc'd by Parasites, by Priests undone:
Unhappy Charles! oh! had thy feeling heart
But honour'd Freedom as it valued Art!
To merit just, thy bounty flow'd alike
On bolder Rubens, and the soft Vandyke:
To this ennobled realm thy judgment brought
The sacred miracles that Raphael wrought.
But regal Pride, with vain Ambition blind,
Cut off the promise of thy cultur'd mind.
By wounded Liberty's convulsive hand
Unbound, fierce Anarchy usurps the Land;
While trembling Art to foreign regions flies,
To seek a refuge in serener skies.
Seduc'd by Parasites, by Priests undone:
Unhappy Charles! oh! had thy feeling heart
But honour'd Freedom as it valued Art!
To merit just, thy bounty flow'd alike
On bolder Rubens, and the soft Vandyke:
To this ennobled realm thy judgment brought
The sacred miracles that Raphael wrought.
But regal Pride, with vain Ambition blind,
Cut off the promise of thy cultur'd mind.
By wounded Liberty's convulsive hand
Unbound, fierce Anarchy usurps the Land;
While trembling Art to foreign regions flies,
To seek a refuge in serener skies.
These storms subsiding, see her once again
Returning in the second Charles's train!
She comes to copy, in licentious sport,
The Minions of a loose luxurious Court;
From whence the modest Graces turn their eyes,
Where Genius sees, and o'er the prospect sighs,
Lely's soft tints, and Dryden's nobler Lyre,
Made the mean Slaves of dissolute Desire.
Returning in the second Charles's train!
She comes to copy, in licentious sport,
The Minions of a loose luxurious Court;
From whence the modest Graces turn their eyes,
Where Genius sees, and o'er the prospect sighs,
Lely's soft tints, and Dryden's nobler Lyre,
Made the mean Slaves of dissolute Desire.
Once more, alarm'd by War's terrific roar,
The sweet Enchantress quits the troubled shore;
While sacred Freedom, darting in disdain
Her vengeful Thunder on th' apostate Train,
And, pleas'd the gloomy Tyrant to disown,
Gives to Nassau the abdicated Throne.
The sweet Enchantress quits the troubled shore;
31
Her vengeful Thunder on th' apostate Train,
And, pleas'd the gloomy Tyrant to disown,
Gives to Nassau the abdicated Throne.
The peaceful Prince may rising Art defend,
And Art shall crown her Patron and her Friend.
In tumults, from the cradle to the grave,
'Tis thine, O William! sinking realms to save.
To thee no leisure mightier cares allow,
To bind the laurel on the Artist's brow:
'Tis thine to fix, with tutelary hand,
The Base of Freedom, on which Art must stand.
Yet to thy Palace Kneller's skill supplied
Its richest ornament in Beauty's pride.
Unhappy Kneller! covetous though vain;
Thee Glory yielded to seducing Gain:
While partial Taste from modest Riley turn'd,
By diffidence depriv'd of praise well earn'd.
And Art shall crown her Patron and her Friend.
In tumults, from the cradle to the grave,
'Tis thine, O William! sinking realms to save.
To thee no leisure mightier cares allow,
To bind the laurel on the Artist's brow:
'Tis thine to fix, with tutelary hand,
The Base of Freedom, on which Art must stand.
Yet to thy Palace Kneller's skill supplied
Its richest ornament in Beauty's pride.
Unhappy Kneller! covetous though vain;
Thee Glory yielded to seducing Gain:
While partial Taste from modest Riley turn'd,
By diffidence depriv'd of praise well earn'd.
Tho' in succeeding years the Muses taught,
“How Ann commanded, and how Marlbro' fought;”
And Thornhill's blaze of Allegory gilt
The piles, that Wren's superior genius built;
Contending Factions, in her closing reign,
Like winds imprison'd, shook fair Freedom's Fane.
Painting, soft timid Nymph, still chose to roam,
And fear'd to settle in this shaking Dome.
“How Ann commanded, and how Marlbro' fought;”
32
The piles, that Wren's superior genius built;
Contending Factions, in her closing reign,
Like winds imprison'd, shook fair Freedom's Fane.
Painting, soft timid Nymph, still chose to roam,
And fear'd to settle in this shaking Dome.
At length, the fury of each storm o'erblown,
That threaten'd Brunswick's race on Britain's throne,
Rebellion vanquish'd on her native shore,
Her clans extinguish'd, and her chiefs no more:
The youthful Noble, on a princely Plan,
Encourag'd infant Art, and first began
Before the studious eye of Youth to place
The ancient Models of ideal Grace.
That threaten'd Brunswick's race on Britain's throne,
Rebellion vanquish'd on her native shore,
Her clans extinguish'd, and her chiefs no more:
The youthful Noble, on a princely Plan,
Encourag'd infant Art, and first began
Before the studious eye of Youth to place
The ancient Models of ideal Grace.
When Britain triumph'd, thro' her wide domain,
O'er France, supported by imperious Spain,
And, sated with her Laurels' large increase,
Began to cultivate the plants of Peace;
Fixt by kind Majesty's protecting hand,
Painting, no more an alien in our land,
First smil'd to see, on this propitious ground,
Her temples open'd, and her altars crown'd:
And Grace, the first attendant of her train,
She whom Apelles wooed, nor wooed in vain,
To Reynolds gives her undulating line,
And Judgment doats upon his chaste design.
Tho' Envy whispers in the ear of Spleen,
What thoughts are borrow'd in his perfect scene,
With glee she marks them on her canker'd scroll,
Malicious Fiend! 'twas thus that Virgil stole,
To the bright Image gave a brighter Gloss,
Or turn'd to purest Gold the foreign Dross.
Excelling Artist! long delight the eye!
Teach but thy transient tints no more to fly,
Britain shall then her own Apelles see,
And all the Grecian shall revive in thee.
Thy manly spirit glories to impart
The leading Principles of lib'ral Art;
To youthful Genius points what course to run,
What Lights to follow, and what Rocks to shun:
So Orpheus taught, by Learning's heavenly sway,
To daring Argonauts their doubtful way,
And mark'd, to guide them in their bold Career,
Th' unerring Glories of the starry Sphere.
Thy Hand enforces what thy Precept taught,
And gives new lessons of exalted thought;
Thy nervous Pencil on the canvass throws
The tragic story of sublimest woes:
The wretched Sons, whom Grief and Famine tear,
The Parent petrified with blank Despair,
Thy Ugolino gives the heart to thrill
With Pity's tender throbs, and Horror's icy chill.
O'er France, supported by imperious Spain,
And, sated with her Laurels' large increase,
Began to cultivate the plants of Peace;
Fixt by kind Majesty's protecting hand,
Painting, no more an alien in our land,
First smil'd to see, on this propitious ground,
Her temples open'd, and her altars crown'd:
33
She whom Apelles wooed, nor wooed in vain,
To Reynolds gives her undulating line,
And Judgment doats upon his chaste design.
Tho' Envy whispers in the ear of Spleen,
What thoughts are borrow'd in his perfect scene,
With glee she marks them on her canker'd scroll,
Malicious Fiend! 'twas thus that Virgil stole,
To the bright Image gave a brighter Gloss,
Or turn'd to purest Gold the foreign Dross.
Excelling Artist! long delight the eye!
Teach but thy transient tints no more to fly,
Britain shall then her own Apelles see,
And all the Grecian shall revive in thee.
Thy manly spirit glories to impart
The leading Principles of lib'ral Art;
To youthful Genius points what course to run,
What Lights to follow, and what Rocks to shun:
So Orpheus taught, by Learning's heavenly sway,
To daring Argonauts their doubtful way,
And mark'd, to guide them in their bold Career,
Th' unerring Glories of the starry Sphere.
34
And gives new lessons of exalted thought;
Thy nervous Pencil on the canvass throws
The tragic story of sublimest woes:
The wretched Sons, whom Grief and Famine tear,
The Parent petrified with blank Despair,
Thy Ugolino gives the heart to thrill
With Pity's tender throbs, and Horror's icy chill.
The offspring now of many a rival hand,
Sublimity and Grace adorn the Land;
Tho' but some few years past, this barren coast
Scarce one fair grain of native Art could boast.
Of various form, where'er we turn our eyes,
With strong and rapid growth new wonders rise;
Like seeds that Mariners, with generous toil,
Have wisely carried to some kindred soil,
Which, shooting quick and vig'rous in their birth,
Speak the fond bounty of the virgin Earth:
The land o'erjoy'd a fairer fruit to see,
Adopts, with glad surprize, the alien Tree.
Sublimity and Grace adorn the Land;
Tho' but some few years past, this barren coast
Scarce one fair grain of native Art could boast.
Of various form, where'er we turn our eyes,
With strong and rapid growth new wonders rise;
Like seeds that Mariners, with generous toil,
Have wisely carried to some kindred soil,
Which, shooting quick and vig'rous in their birth,
Speak the fond bounty of the virgin Earth:
The land o'erjoy'd a fairer fruit to see,
Adopts, with glad surprize, the alien Tree.
Now Art exults, with annual Triumphs gay,
And Britain glories in her rich display;
Merit, who unassisted, and unknown,
Late o'er his unseen labours sigh'd alone,
Sees honour now his happier toils attend,
And in the generous Public finds a friend.
And Britain glories in her rich display;
35
Late o'er his unseen labours sigh'd alone,
Sees honour now his happier toils attend,
And in the generous Public finds a friend.
O lovely Painting, to whose charms I bow,
“And breathe my willing verse with suppliant vow,”
Forgive me, if by undiscerning Praise,
Or groundless Censure, which false Judgment sways,
My failing line with faint resemblance wrong
Thy Sons, the subject of no envious song!
“And breathe my willing verse with suppliant vow,”
Forgive me, if by undiscerning Praise,
Or groundless Censure, which false Judgment sways,
My failing line with faint resemblance wrong
Thy Sons, the subject of no envious song!
Supremely skill'd the varied group to place,
And range the crowded scene with easy grace;
To finish parts, yet not impair the whole,
But on th' impassion'd action fix the soul;
Thro' wandering throngs the patriot Chief to guide,
The shame of Carthage, as of Rome the pride;
Or, while the bleeding Victor yields his breath,
Give the bright lesson of heroic Death.
Such are thy Merits, West: by Virtue's hand
Built on the human heart thy praise shall stand,
While dear to Glory, in her guardian Fane,
The names of Regulus and Wolfe remain.
And range the crowded scene with easy grace;
To finish parts, yet not impair the whole,
But on th' impassion'd action fix the soul;
Thro' wandering throngs the patriot Chief to guide,
The shame of Carthage, as of Rome the pride;
Or, while the bleeding Victor yields his breath,
Give the bright lesson of heroic Death.
Such are thy Merits, West: by Virtue's hand
Built on the human heart thy praise shall stand,
While dear to Glory, in her guardian Fane,
The names of Regulus and Wolfe remain.
With kindred power a rival hand succeeds,
For whose just fame expiring Chatham pleads;
Like Chatham's language, luminous and bold,
Thy colours, Copley, the dread scene unfold,
Where that prime Spirit, by whose guidance hurl'd,
Britain's avenging thunder aw'd the world,
In patriot cares employ'd his parting breath,
Struck in his field of Civic fame by Death;
And Freedom, happy in the tribute paid
By Art and Genius to so dear a Shade,
Shall own, the measure of thy praise to fill,
The awful subject equall'd by thy skill.
For whose just fame expiring Chatham pleads;
36
Thy colours, Copley, the dread scene unfold,
Where that prime Spirit, by whose guidance hurl'd,
Britain's avenging thunder aw'd the world,
In patriot cares employ'd his parting breath,
Struck in his field of Civic fame by Death;
And Freedom, happy in the tribute paid
By Art and Genius to so dear a Shade,
Shall own, the measure of thy praise to fill,
The awful subject equall'd by thy skill.
To Dance's pencil, in Precision strong,
Transcendant Force, and Truth of Line belong,
Not Garrick's self, to Shakespeare's spirit true,
Display'd that spirit clearer to our view,
Than Dance expresses, in its fiercest flame,
The Poet's Genius in the Actor's Frame.
From Garrick's features, with distraction fraught,
He copies every trace of troubled thought;
And paints, while back the waves of Battle roll,
The Storm of sanguinary Richard's soul.
Transcendant Force, and Truth of Line belong,
Not Garrick's self, to Shakespeare's spirit true,
Display'd that spirit clearer to our view,
Than Dance expresses, in its fiercest flame,
The Poet's Genius in the Actor's Frame.
From Garrick's features, with distraction fraught,
He copies every trace of troubled thought;
And paints, while back the waves of Battle roll,
The Storm of sanguinary Richard's soul.
The rapid Mortimer, of Spirit wild,
Imagination's dear and daring Child,
Marks the fierce Ruffian, in the Dungeon's gloom,
Stung with remorse, and shudd'ring at his doom.
Yet still to nobler heights his Genius springs,
And paints a lesson to tyrannic Kings:
In his bright colours see the field appear
To Freedom sacred, and to Glory dear,
Where John, proud Monarch, baffled on his throne,
Hears the brave Chief his lawless pow'r disown,
And, for an injur'd Nation, nobly claim
The glorious Charter of immortal Fame!
Imagination's dear and daring Child,
Marks the fierce Ruffian, in the Dungeon's gloom,
Stung with remorse, and shudd'ring at his doom.
37
And paints a lesson to tyrannic Kings:
In his bright colours see the field appear
To Freedom sacred, and to Glory dear,
Where John, proud Monarch, baffled on his throne,
Hears the brave Chief his lawless pow'r disown,
And, for an injur'd Nation, nobly claim
The glorious Charter of immortal Fame!
But see far off the modest Wright retire!
Alone he rules his Element of Fire:
Like Meteors darting through the gloom of Night,
His sparkles flash upon the dazzled sight;
Our eyes with momentary anguish smart,
And Nature trembles at the power of Art.
May thy bold colours, claiming endless praise,
For ages shine with undiminish'd blaze,
And when the fierce Vesuvio burns no more,
May his red deluge down thy canvass pour!
Alone he rules his Element of Fire:
Like Meteors darting through the gloom of Night,
His sparkles flash upon the dazzled sight;
Our eyes with momentary anguish smart,
And Nature trembles at the power of Art.
May thy bold colours, claiming endless praise,
For ages shine with undiminish'd blaze,
And when the fierce Vesuvio burns no more,
May his red deluge down thy canvass pour!
Art with no common gifts her Gainsb'rough grac'd,
Two different Pencils in his hand she plac'd;
This shall command, she said, with certain aim,
A perfect Semblance of the human Frame;
This, lightly sporting on the village-green,
Paint the wild beauties of the rural Scene.
Two different Pencils in his hand she plac'd;
This shall command, she said, with certain aim,
A perfect Semblance of the human Frame;
This, lightly sporting on the village-green,
Paint the wild beauties of the rural Scene.
38
In storms sublime the daring Wilson soars,
And on the blasted Oak his mimic Lightning pours:
Apollo triumphs in his flaming skies,
And classic Beauties in his scenes arise.
And on the blasted Oak his mimic Lightning pours:
Apollo triumphs in his flaming skies,
And classic Beauties in his scenes arise.
Thy Graces, Humphreys, and thy Colours clear,
From Miniature's small circle disappear:
May their distinguish'd merit still prevail,
And shine with lustre on the larger Scale.
From Miniature's small circle disappear:
May their distinguish'd merit still prevail,
And shine with lustre on the larger Scale.
Let candid Justice our attention lead
To the soft Crayon of the graceful Read:
Nor, Gard'ner, shall the Muse, in haste, forget
Thy Taste and Ease; tho' with a fond regret
She pays, while here the Crayon's pow'r she notes,
A sigh of homage to the Shade of Coates.
Nor, if her favour'd hand may hope to shed
The flowers of glory o'er the skilful dead,
Thy Talents, Hogarth! will she leave unsung;
Charm of all eyes, and Theme of every tongue!
A separate province 'twas thy praise to rule;
Self-form'd thy Pencil! yet thy works a School;
Where strongly painted, in gradations nice,
The Pomp of Folly, and the Shame of Vice,
Reach'd thro' the laughing Eye the mended Mind,
And moral Humour sportive Art refin'd.
While fleeting Manners, as minutely shewn
As the clear prospect on the mirror thrown;
While Truth of Character, exactly hit,
And drest in all the dyes of comic wit;
While these, in Fielding's page, delight supply,
So long thy Pencil with his Pen shall vie.
Science with grief beheld thy drooping age
Fall the sad victim of a Poet's rage:
But Wit's vindictive spleen, that mocks controul,
Nature's high tax on luxury of soul!
This, both in Bards and Painters, Fame forgives;
Their Frailty's buried, but their Genius lives.
To the soft Crayon of the graceful Read:
Nor, Gard'ner, shall the Muse, in haste, forget
Thy Taste and Ease; tho' with a fond regret
She pays, while here the Crayon's pow'r she notes,
A sigh of homage to the Shade of Coates.
Nor, if her favour'd hand may hope to shed
The flowers of glory o'er the skilful dead,
Thy Talents, Hogarth! will she leave unsung;
Charm of all eyes, and Theme of every tongue!
A separate province 'twas thy praise to rule;
Self-form'd thy Pencil! yet thy works a School;
Where strongly painted, in gradations nice,
The Pomp of Folly, and the Shame of Vice,
39
And moral Humour sportive Art refin'd.
While fleeting Manners, as minutely shewn
As the clear prospect on the mirror thrown;
While Truth of Character, exactly hit,
And drest in all the dyes of comic wit;
While these, in Fielding's page, delight supply,
So long thy Pencil with his Pen shall vie.
Science with grief beheld thy drooping age
Fall the sad victim of a Poet's rage:
But Wit's vindictive spleen, that mocks controul,
Nature's high tax on luxury of soul!
This, both in Bards and Painters, Fame forgives;
Their Frailty's buried, but their Genius lives.
Still many a Painter, not of humble Name,
Appears the tribute of applause to claim;
Some alien Artists, more of English Race,
With fair Angelica, our foreign Grace,
Who paints, with Energy and Softness join'd,
The fond Emotions of the female Mind;
And Cipriani, whom the Loves surround,
And sportive Nymphs in Beauty's Cestus bound:
For him those Nymphs their every Charm display,
For him coy Venus throws her veil away;
And Zaffani, whose faithful colours give
The transient glories of the Stage to live;
On his bright canvass each dramatic Muse
A perfect copy of her scene reviews;
Each, while those scenes her lost delight restore,
Almost forgets her Garrick is no more.—
O'er these I pass reluctant, lest too long
The Muse diffusely spin a tedious Song.
Appears the tribute of applause to claim;
Some alien Artists, more of English Race,
With fair Angelica, our foreign Grace,
Who paints, with Energy and Softness join'd,
The fond Emotions of the female Mind;
And Cipriani, whom the Loves surround,
And sportive Nymphs in Beauty's Cestus bound:
For him those Nymphs their every Charm display,
For him coy Venus throws her veil away;
40
The transient glories of the Stage to live;
On his bright canvass each dramatic Muse
A perfect copy of her scene reviews;
Each, while those scenes her lost delight restore,
Almost forgets her Garrick is no more.—
O'er these I pass reluctant, lest too long
The Muse diffusely spin a tedious Song.
Yet one short pause, ye Pow'rs of Verse, allow
To cull a Myrtle Leaf for Meyers's Brow!
Tho' small its Field, thy Pencil may presume
To ask a Wreath where Flowers immortal bloom.
As Nature's self, in all her pictures fair,
Colours her Infect works with nicest care,
Nor better forms, to please the curious eye,
The spotted Leopard than the gilded Fly;
So thy fine Pencil, in its narrow space,
Pours the full portion of uninjur'd Grace,
And Portraits, true to Nature's larger line,
Boast not an air more exquisite than thine.
Soft Beauty's charms thy happiest works express,
Beauty thy model and thy Patroness.
For her thy care has to perfection brought
Th' uncertain toil, with anxious trouble fraught;
Thy colour'd Crystal, at her fond desire,
Draws deathless Lustre from the dang'rous Fire,
And, pleas'd to gaze on its immortal charm,
She binds thy Bracelet on her snowy arm.
To cull a Myrtle Leaf for Meyers's Brow!
Tho' small its Field, thy Pencil may presume
To ask a Wreath where Flowers immortal bloom.
As Nature's self, in all her pictures fair,
Colours her Infect works with nicest care,
Nor better forms, to please the curious eye,
The spotted Leopard than the gilded Fly;
So thy fine Pencil, in its narrow space,
Pours the full portion of uninjur'd Grace,
And Portraits, true to Nature's larger line,
Boast not an air more exquisite than thine.
Soft Beauty's charms thy happiest works express,
Beauty thy model and thy Patroness.
For her thy care has to perfection brought
Th' uncertain toil, with anxious trouble fraught;
41
Draws deathless Lustre from the dang'rous Fire,
And, pleas'd to gaze on its immortal charm,
She binds thy Bracelet on her snowy arm.
While Admiration views, with raptur'd eye,
These Lights of Art that gild the British sky;
Oh! may my Friend arise, with lustre clear,
And add new Glory to this radiant Sphere.
This wish, my Romney, from the purest source,
Has Reason's Warrant, join'd to Friendship's Force.
For Genius breath'd into thy infant Frame
The vital Spirit of his sacred Flame,
Which frequent mists of Diffidence o'ercloud,
Proving the vigor of the Sun they shroud.
Nature in thee her every gift combin'd,
Which forms the Artist of the noblest kind;
That fond Ambition, which bestows on Art
Each talent of the Mind, and passion of the Heart;
That dauntless Patience, which all toil defies,
Nor feels the labour while it views the prize.
Enlight'ning Study, with maturing pow'r,
From these fair seeds has call'd the op'ning flow'r;
Thy just, thy graceful Portraits charm the view,
With every tender tint that Titian knew.
Round Fancy's circle when thy Pencil flies,
With what terrific pomp thy Spectres rise!
What lust of mischief marks thy Witch's form,
While on the Lapland Rock she swells the storm!
Tho' led by Fancy thro' her boundless reign,
Well dost thou know to quit her wild domain,
When History bids thee paint, severely chaste,
Her simpler scene, with uncorrupted taste.
While in these fields thy judging eyes explore,
What spot untried may yield its secret ore,
Thy happy Genius springs a virgin Mine
Of copious, pure, original Design;
Truth gives it value, and, distinctly bold,
The stamp of Character compleats thy Gold.
Thy Figures rise in Beauty's noblest scale,
Sublimely telling their heroic Tale.
Still may thy Powers in full exertion blaze,
And Time revere them with unrivall'd praise!
May Art, in honour of a Son like thee,
So justly daring, with a soul so free,
Each separate Province to thy care commend,
And all her Glories in thy Pencil blend!
May tender Titian's mellow softness join,
With mighty Angelo's sublimer Line;
Corregio's Grace with Raphael's Taste unite,
And in thy perfect Works inchant the ravish'd Sight!
These Lights of Art that gild the British sky;
Oh! may my Friend arise, with lustre clear,
And add new Glory to this radiant Sphere.
This wish, my Romney, from the purest source,
Has Reason's Warrant, join'd to Friendship's Force.
For Genius breath'd into thy infant Frame
The vital Spirit of his sacred Flame,
Which frequent mists of Diffidence o'ercloud,
Proving the vigor of the Sun they shroud.
Nature in thee her every gift combin'd,
Which forms the Artist of the noblest kind;
That fond Ambition, which bestows on Art
Each talent of the Mind, and passion of the Heart;
That dauntless Patience, which all toil defies,
Nor feels the labour while it views the prize.
Enlight'ning Study, with maturing pow'r,
From these fair seeds has call'd the op'ning flow'r;
Thy just, thy graceful Portraits charm the view,
With every tender tint that Titian knew.
42
With what terrific pomp thy Spectres rise!
What lust of mischief marks thy Witch's form,
While on the Lapland Rock she swells the storm!
Tho' led by Fancy thro' her boundless reign,
Well dost thou know to quit her wild domain,
When History bids thee paint, severely chaste,
Her simpler scene, with uncorrupted taste.
While in these fields thy judging eyes explore,
What spot untried may yield its secret ore,
Thy happy Genius springs a virgin Mine
Of copious, pure, original Design;
Truth gives it value, and, distinctly bold,
The stamp of Character compleats thy Gold.
Thy Figures rise in Beauty's noblest scale,
Sublimely telling their heroic Tale.
Still may thy Powers in full exertion blaze,
And Time revere them with unrivall'd praise!
May Art, in honour of a Son like thee,
So justly daring, with a soul so free,
Each separate Province to thy care commend,
And all her Glories in thy Pencil blend!
May tender Titian's mellow softness join,
With mighty Angelo's sublimer Line;
43
And in thy perfect Works inchant the ravish'd Sight!
How oft we find that when, with noblest aim,
The glowing Artist gains the heights of Fame,
To the well-chosen Theme he chiefly owes
That praise which Judgment with delight bestows!
The Lyre and Pencil both this Truth confess,
The happy Subject forms their full success.
The glowing Artist gains the heights of Fame,
To the well-chosen Theme he chiefly owes
That praise which Judgment with delight bestows!
The Lyre and Pencil both this Truth confess,
The happy Subject forms their full success.
Hard is the Painter's fate, when, wisely taught
To trace with ease the deepest lines of thought,
By hapless Fortune he is doom'd to rove
Thro' all the frolicks of licentious Jove,
That some dark Philip, phlegmatic and cold,
(Whose needy Titian calls for ill-paid gold)
May with voluptuous Images enflame
The fated Passions of his languid frame.
To trace with ease the deepest lines of thought,
By hapless Fortune he is doom'd to rove
Thro' all the frolicks of licentious Jove,
That some dark Philip, phlegmatic and cold,
(Whose needy Titian calls for ill-paid gold)
May with voluptuous Images enflame
The fated Passions of his languid frame.
Abuse like this awakens generous Pain,
And just Derision mingles with Disdain,
When such a Pencil, in a Roman hand,
While the rich Abbess issues her command,
Makes wild St. Francis on the canvass sprawl,
That some warm Nun in mimic trance may fall,
Or, fondly gazing on the pious whim,
Feel faintly Love o'erload each lazy limb,
Mistaking, in the Cloister's dull embrace,
The Cry of Nature for the Call of Grace.
And just Derision mingles with Disdain,
When such a Pencil, in a Roman hand,
While the rich Abbess issues her command,
Makes wild St. Francis on the canvass sprawl,
That some warm Nun in mimic trance may fall,
44
Feel faintly Love o'erload each lazy limb,
Mistaking, in the Cloister's dull embrace,
The Cry of Nature for the Call of Grace.
But see th' historic Muse before thee stand,
Her nobler subjects court thy happier Hand!
Her Forms of reverend Age, of graceful Youth,
Of public Virtue, and of private Truth:
The sacred power of injur'd Beauty's charms,
And Freedom, fierce in adamantine Arms:
Whence Sympathy, thro' thy assisting art,
With floods of Joy may fill the human heart.
Her nobler subjects court thy happier Hand!
Her Forms of reverend Age, of graceful Youth,
Of public Virtue, and of private Truth:
The sacred power of injur'd Beauty's charms,
And Freedom, fierce in adamantine Arms:
Whence Sympathy, thro' thy assisting art,
With floods of Joy may fill the human heart.
But while the bounds of Hist'ry you explore,
And bring new Treasures from her farthest shore,
Thro' all her various fields, tho' large and wide,
Still make Simplicity thy constant guide:
And most, my Friend, a Syren's wiles beware,
Ah! shun insidious Allegory's snare!
Her Flattery offers an alluring wreath,
Fair to the eye, but poisons lurk beneath,
By which, too lightly tempted from his guard,
Full many a Painter dies, and many a Bard.
How sweet her voice, how dangerous her spell,
Let Spenser's Knights, and Rubens' Tritons tell;
Judgment at colour'd riddles shakes his head,
And fairy Songs are prais'd, but little read;
Where, in the Maze of her unbounded Sphere,
Unbridled Fancy runs her wild Career.
And bring new Treasures from her farthest shore,
Thro' all her various fields, tho' large and wide,
Still make Simplicity thy constant guide:
And most, my Friend, a Syren's wiles beware,
Ah! shun insidious Allegory's snare!
Her Flattery offers an alluring wreath,
Fair to the eye, but poisons lurk beneath,
By which, too lightly tempted from his guard,
Full many a Painter dies, and many a Bard.
How sweet her voice, how dangerous her spell,
Let Spenser's Knights, and Rubens' Tritons tell;
45
And fairy Songs are prais'd, but little read;
Where, in the Maze of her unbounded Sphere,
Unbridled Fancy runs her wild Career.
In Realms where Superstition's tyrant sway
“Takes half the vigour of the soul away,”
Let Art for subjects the dark Legend search,
Where Saints unnumber'd people every Church;
Let Painters run the wilds of Ovid o'er,
To hunt for monsters which we heed no more.
But here, my Romney, where, on Freedom's wings,
The towering Spirit to Perfection springs;
Where Genius, proud to act as Heav'n inspires,
On Taste's pure Altars lights his facred fires;
Oh! here let Painting, as of old in Greece,
With patriot passions warm the finish'd piece;
Let Britain, happy in a gen'rous race,
Of manly Spirit, and of female Grace;
Let this frank Parent with fond eyes explore
Some just memorials of the line she bore,
In tints immortal to her view recall
Her dearest Offspring on the storied Wall.
“Takes half the vigour of the soul away,”
Let Art for subjects the dark Legend search,
Where Saints unnumber'd people every Church;
Let Painters run the wilds of Ovid o'er,
To hunt for monsters which we heed no more.
But here, my Romney, where, on Freedom's wings,
The towering Spirit to Perfection springs;
Where Genius, proud to act as Heav'n inspires,
On Taste's pure Altars lights his facred fires;
Oh! here let Painting, as of old in Greece,
With patriot passions warm the finish'd piece;
Let Britain, happy in a gen'rous race,
Of manly Spirit, and of female Grace;
Let this frank Parent with fond eyes explore
Some just memorials of the line she bore,
In tints immortal to her view recall
Her dearest Offspring on the storied Wall.
But some there are, who, with pedantic scorn,
Despise the Hero, if in Britain born:
For them Perfection has herself no charms,
Without a Roman robe, or Grecian arms:
Our slighted Country, for whose fame they feel
No generous interest, no manly zeal,
Sees public Judgment their false Taste arraign,
And treat their cold contempt with due disdain;
To the fair Annals of our Isle we trust,
To prove this patriot indignation just,
And, nobly partial to our native earth,
Bid English Pencils honour English Worth.
Despise the Hero, if in Britain born:
46
Without a Roman robe, or Grecian arms:
Our slighted Country, for whose fame they feel
No generous interest, no manly zeal,
Sees public Judgment their false Taste arraign,
And treat their cold contempt with due disdain;
To the fair Annals of our Isle we trust,
To prove this patriot indignation just,
And, nobly partial to our native earth,
Bid English Pencils honour English Worth.
Shall Bayard, glorious in his dying hour,
Of Gallic Chivalry the fairest Flow'r,
Shall his pure Blood in British colours flow,
And Britain, on her canvass, fail to shew
Her wounded Sidney, Bayard's perfect peer,
Sidney, her Knight, without Reproach or Fear,
O'er whose pale corse heroic Worth should bend,
And mild Humanity embalm her Friend!
Oh! Romney, in his hour of Death we find
A Subject worthy of thy feeling Mind;
Methinks I see thy rapid Hand display
The field of Zutphen, on that fatal day,
When arm'd for Freedom, 'gainst the guilt of Spain,
The Hero bled upon the Belgic plain!
In that great moment thou hast caught the Chief,
When pitying Friends supply the wish'd relief;
While Sickness, Pain, and Thirst his pow'r subdue,
I see the draught he pants for in his view:
Near him the Soldier, that expiring lies,
This precious Water views with ghastly eyes,
With eyes that from their sockets seem to burst,
With eager, frantic, agonizing Thirst:
I see the Hero give, oh! generous Care!
The Cup untasted to this silent Pray'r:
I hear him say, with Tenderness divine,
“Thy strong Necessity surpasses mine.”
Of Gallic Chivalry the fairest Flow'r,
Shall his pure Blood in British colours flow,
And Britain, on her canvass, fail to shew
Her wounded Sidney, Bayard's perfect peer,
Sidney, her Knight, without Reproach or Fear,
O'er whose pale corse heroic Worth should bend,
And mild Humanity embalm her Friend!
Oh! Romney, in his hour of Death we find
A Subject worthy of thy feeling Mind;
Methinks I see thy rapid Hand display
The field of Zutphen, on that fatal day,
47
The Hero bled upon the Belgic plain!
In that great moment thou hast caught the Chief,
When pitying Friends supply the wish'd relief;
While Sickness, Pain, and Thirst his pow'r subdue,
I see the draught he pants for in his view:
Near him the Soldier, that expiring lies,
This precious Water views with ghastly eyes,
With eyes that from their sockets seem to burst,
With eager, frantic, agonizing Thirst:
I see the Hero give, oh! generous Care!
The Cup untasted to this silent Pray'r:
I hear him say, with Tenderness divine,
“Thy strong Necessity surpasses mine.”
Shall Roman Charity for ever share
Thro' every various School each Painter's Care?
And Britain still her bright examples hide
Of female Glory, and of filial Pride?
Instruct our eyes, my Romney, to adore
Th' heroic Daughter of the virtuous More,
Resolv'd to save, or in th' attempt expire,
The precious relicks of her martyr'd Sire:
Before the cruel Council let her stand,
Press the dear ghastly Head with pitying Hand,
And plead, while Bigotry itself grows mild,
The sacred duties of a grateful Child.
Thro' every various School each Painter's Care?
And Britain still her bright examples hide
Of female Glory, and of filial Pride?
Instruct our eyes, my Romney, to adore
Th' heroic Daughter of the virtuous More,
Resolv'd to save, or in th' attempt expire,
The precious relicks of her martyr'd Sire:
48
Press the dear ghastly Head with pitying Hand,
And plead, while Bigotry itself grows mild,
The sacred duties of a grateful Child.
Forgive the Muse, if haply she commend
A Theme ill-chosen to her skilful Friend;
She, tho' its pow'r commands her willing heart,
Knows not the limits of thy lovely Art,
Yet boldly owns an eager wish to see
Her darling Images adorn'd by thee.
Nor shall her social Love in silence hide
The just emotions of her grateful Pride,
When thy quick Pencil pours upon her sight
Her own Creation in a fairer light;
When her Serena learns from thee to live,
And please by every charm that life can give.
Thou hast imparted to th' ideal Fair
Yet more than Beauty's bloom, and Youth's attractive air;
For in thy studious Nymph th' enamour'd Eye
May, thro' her breast, her gentle Heart descry;
See the fond thoughts, that o'er her Fancy roll,
And Sympathy's soft swell, that fills her soul.
But happier Bards, who boast a higher claim,
Ask from thy Genius an increase of Fame.
A Theme ill-chosen to her skilful Friend;
She, tho' its pow'r commands her willing heart,
Knows not the limits of thy lovely Art,
Yet boldly owns an eager wish to see
Her darling Images adorn'd by thee.
Nor shall her social Love in silence hide
The just emotions of her grateful Pride,
When thy quick Pencil pours upon her sight
Her own Creation in a fairer light;
When her Serena learns from thee to live,
And please by every charm that life can give.
Thou hast imparted to th' ideal Fair
Yet more than Beauty's bloom, and Youth's attractive air;
For in thy studious Nymph th' enamour'd Eye
May, thro' her breast, her gentle Heart descry;
See the fond thoughts, that o'er her Fancy roll,
And Sympathy's soft swell, that fills her soul.
49
Ask from thy Genius an increase of Fame.
Oh! let the Sisters, who, with friendly aid,
The Grecian Lyre, and Grecian Pencil sway'd,
Who join'd their rival Powers with fond delight,
To grace each other with reflected Light,
Let them in Britain thus united reign,
And double lustre from that union gain!
Not that my Verse, adventurous, would pretend
To point each varied subject to my Friend;
Far nobler guides their better aid supply:
When mighty Shakespeare to thy judging eye
Presents that magic Glass, whose ample Round
Reflects each Figure in Creation's bound,
And pours, in floods of supernatural light,
Fancy's bright Beings on the charmed sight.
This chief Inchanter of the willing breast,
Will teach thee all the magic he possest.
Plac'd in his Circle, mark in colours true
Each brilliant Being that he calls to view.
Wrapt in the gloomy storm, or rob'd in light,
His weïrd Sister or his fairy Sprite,
Boldly o'erleaping, in the great design,
The bounds of Nature, with a Guide divine.
The Grecian Lyre, and Grecian Pencil sway'd,
Who join'd their rival Powers with fond delight,
To grace each other with reflected Light,
Let them in Britain thus united reign,
And double lustre from that union gain!
Not that my Verse, adventurous, would pretend
To point each varied subject to my Friend;
Far nobler guides their better aid supply:
When mighty Shakespeare to thy judging eye
Presents that magic Glass, whose ample Round
Reflects each Figure in Creation's bound,
And pours, in floods of supernatural light,
Fancy's bright Beings on the charmed sight.
This chief Inchanter of the willing breast,
Will teach thee all the magic he possest.
Plac'd in his Circle, mark in colours true
Each brilliant Being that he calls to view.
Wrapt in the gloomy storm, or rob'd in light,
His weïrd Sister or his fairy Sprite,
Boldly o'erleaping, in the great design,
The bounds of Nature, with a Guide divine.
50
Let Milton's self, conductor of thy way,
Lead thy congenial spirit to portray
In Colours, like his Verse, sublimely strong,
The scenes that blaze in his immortal song.
Lead thy congenial spirit to portray
In Colours, like his Verse, sublimely strong,
The scenes that blaze in his immortal song.
See Michael drawn, by many a skilful Hand,
As suits the Leader of the Seraph-Band!
But oh! how poor the prostrate Satan lies,
With bestial form debas'd and goatish eyes!
How chang'd from him who leads the dire debate,
Fearless tho' fallen, and in Ruin great!
Let thy bold Pencil, more sublimely true,
Present his Arch Apostate to our view
In worthier Semblance of infernal Pow'r,
And proudly standing like a stately tow'r,
While his infernal mandate bids awake
His Legions, slumbering on the burning Lake.
As suits the Leader of the Seraph-Band!
But oh! how poor the prostrate Satan lies,
With bestial form debas'd and goatish eyes!
How chang'd from him who leads the dire debate,
Fearless tho' fallen, and in Ruin great!
Let thy bold Pencil, more sublimely true,
Present his Arch Apostate to our view
In worthier Semblance of infernal Pow'r,
And proudly standing like a stately tow'r,
While his infernal mandate bids awake
His Legions, slumbering on the burning Lake.
Or paint him falling from the Realms of Bliss,
Hurl'd in Combustion to the deep Abyss!
In light terrific let the Flash display
His Pride, still proof against almighty Sway:
Tho' vanquish'd, yet immortal, let his Eye
The Lightning's flame, the Thunder's bolt defy,
And still, with Looks of Execration, dare
To face the Horrors of the last Despair.
Hurl'd in Combustion to the deep Abyss!
In light terrific let the Flash display
His Pride, still proof against almighty Sway:
Tho' vanquish'd, yet immortal, let his Eye
The Lightning's flame, the Thunder's bolt defy,
51
To face the Horrors of the last Despair.
To these great Lords of Fancy's wide domain,
That o'er the human Soul unquestion'd reign,
To their superior Guidance be consign'd
Thy rival Pencil and congenial Mind.
Yet O! let Friendship, ere the Verse she close,
Which in just Tribute to thy Merit flows,
The sanguine wishes of her heart express,
With fond presages of thy full Success.
That o'er the human Soul unquestion'd reign,
To their superior Guidance be consign'd
Thy rival Pencil and congenial Mind.
Yet O! let Friendship, ere the Verse she close,
Which in just Tribute to thy Merit flows,
The sanguine wishes of her heart express,
With fond presages of thy full Success.
May Health and Joy, in happiest union join'd,
Breathe their warm Spirit o'er thy fruitful Mind!
To noblest Efforts raise thy glowing Heart,
And string thy sinews to the toils of Art!
May Independance, bursting Fashion's chain,
To eager Genius give the flowing rein,
And o'er thy epic Canvass smile to see
Thy Judgment active, and thy Fancy free!
May thy just Country, while thy bold design
Recalls the Heroes of her ancient Line,
Gaze on the martial Group with dear delight!
May Youth and Valour, kindling at the sight,
O'er the bright Tints with Admiration lean,
And catch new Virtue from the moral Scene!
May Time himself a fond Reluctance feel,
Nor from thy aged hand the Pencil steal,
But grant it still to gain increasing Praise,
In the late Period of thy lengthen'd days,
While fairest Fortune thy long Life endears,
With Raphael's Glory join'd to Titian's Years!
Breathe their warm Spirit o'er thy fruitful Mind!
To noblest Efforts raise thy glowing Heart,
And string thy sinews to the toils of Art!
May Independance, bursting Fashion's chain,
To eager Genius give the flowing rein,
And o'er thy epic Canvass smile to see
Thy Judgment active, and thy Fancy free!
May thy just Country, while thy bold design
Recalls the Heroes of her ancient Line,
Gaze on the martial Group with dear delight!
May Youth and Valour, kindling at the sight,
O'er the bright Tints with Admiration lean,
And catch new Virtue from the moral Scene!
52
Nor from thy aged hand the Pencil steal,
But grant it still to gain increasing Praise,
In the late Period of thy lengthen'd days,
While fairest Fortune thy long Life endears,
With Raphael's Glory join'd to Titian's Years!
END OF THE SECOND EPISTLE.
107
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,
ON THE DEATH OF JOHN THORNTON, Esq.
CUJUS EGO INTERITU TOTA DE MENTE FUGAVI
HÆC STUDIA, ATQUE OMNES DELICIAS ANIMI. [OMITTED]
NOTESCATQUE MAGIS MORTUUS ATQUE MAGIS.
Catullus.
HÆC STUDIA, ATQUE OMNES DELICIAS ANIMI. [OMITTED]
NOTESCATQUE MAGIS MORTUUS ATQUE MAGIS.
Catullus.
109
In vain, dear Monitor, thy kind desire
To wake the embers of poetic fire!
To clear the mind, where Grief's dark shadows lower,
And Fancy dies by Sorrow's freezing power!
In vain would Friendship's chearing voice suggest
Her flattering visions to the Poet's breast;
That public favor calls, with just demand,
Th' expected volume from his lingering hand:
Lost are those anxious hopes, that eager pride;
With thee, my Thornton, they declin'd, they died.
Friend of my opening soul! whose love began
To hail thy Poet, ere he rank'd as man!
Whose praise, like dew-drops which the early morn
Sheds with mild virtue on the vernal thorn,
Taught his young mind each swell of thought to show,
And gave the germs of fancy strength to blow!
Dear, firm associate of his studious hour,
Who led his idler step to Learning's bower!
Tho' young, imparting to his giddier youth
Thy thirst of science, and thy zeal for truth!
To wake the embers of poetic fire!
To clear the mind, where Grief's dark shadows lower,
And Fancy dies by Sorrow's freezing power!
In vain would Friendship's chearing voice suggest
Her flattering visions to the Poet's breast;
That public favor calls, with just demand,
Th' expected volume from his lingering hand:
Lost are those anxious hopes, that eager pride;
With thee, my Thornton, they declin'd, they died.
110
To hail thy Poet, ere he rank'd as man!
Whose praise, like dew-drops which the early morn
Sheds with mild virtue on the vernal thorn,
Taught his young mind each swell of thought to show,
And gave the germs of fancy strength to blow!
Dear, firm associate of his studious hour,
Who led his idler step to Learning's bower!
Tho' young, imparting to his giddier youth
Thy thirst of science, and thy zeal for truth!
Ye towers of Granta, where our friendship grew,
And that pure mind expanded to my view,
Our love fraternal let your walls attest,
Where Attic joys our letter'd evening blest;
Where midnight, from the chains of sleep reliev'd,
Stole on our social studies unperceiv'd!
And that pure mind expanded to my view,
Our love fraternal let your walls attest,
Where Attic joys our letter'd evening blest;
Where midnight, from the chains of sleep reliev'd,
Stole on our social studies unperceiv'd!
But not, my Thornton! in that calm alone
Was thy mild genius, thy warm virtue known:
When manhood mark'd the hour for busy strife,
And led us to the crowded maze of life,
Where honours dearly bought, and golden spoil,
Tempt not the careless Bard who shrinks from toil,
And whence to sweet retirement's soothing shade,
Love and the Muse thy willing friend convey'd;
Thy foul, more firm to join the struggling crowd,
To nobler Themis toilsome homage vow'd,
With zeal, devoting to her facred throne
A heart as uncorrupted as her own.
Still as thy mind, with manly powers endued,
The opening path of active life pursued,
And round the ripening field of business rang'd,
Thy heart, unwarp'd, unharden'd, unestrang'd,
To early friendship still retain'd its truth,
With all the warm integrity of youth.
Was thy mild genius, thy warm virtue known:
When manhood mark'd the hour for busy strife,
And led us to the crowded maze of life,
Where honours dearly bought, and golden spoil,
Tempt not the careless Bard who shrinks from toil,
And whence to sweet retirement's soothing shade,
Love and the Muse thy willing friend convey'd;
111
To nobler Themis toilsome homage vow'd,
With zeal, devoting to her facred throne
A heart as uncorrupted as her own.
Still as thy mind, with manly powers endued,
The opening path of active life pursued,
And round the ripening field of business rang'd,
Thy heart, unwarp'd, unharden'd, unestrang'd,
To early friendship still retain'd its truth,
With all the warm integrity of youth.
Whene'er affliction's force thy friend opprest,
Thou wert the rock on which his cares might rest;
From thy kind words his rising hopes would own
The charm of reason in affection's tone.
Where is the soothing voice of equal power,
To take its anguish from the present hour?
Beneath the pressure of a grief so just,
The lenient aid of books in vain I trust:
They, that could once the war of thought controul,
And banish discord from the jarring soul,
Now irritate the mind they us'd to heal,
They speak too loudly of the loss I feel.
Thou wert the rock on which his cares might rest;
From thy kind words his rising hopes would own
The charm of reason in affection's tone.
Where is the soothing voice of equal power,
To take its anguish from the present hour?
Beneath the pressure of a grief so just,
The lenient aid of books in vain I trust:
They, that could once the war of thought controul,
And banish discord from the jarring soul,
Now irritate the mind they us'd to heal,
They speak too loudly of the loss I feel.
Thou faithful censor of the Poet's strain,
No more shalt thou his sinking hope sustain,
No more, with ardent zeal's enlivening fire,
Call from inglorious shades his silent lyre:
No more, as in our days of pleasure past,
The eye of judgment o'er his labours cast;
Keen to discern the blemishes, that lurk
In the loose texture of his growing work;
Eager to praise, yet resolute to blame,
Kind to his verse, but kinder to his fame.
No more shalt thou his sinking hope sustain,
112
Call from inglorious shades his silent lyre:
No more, as in our days of pleasure past,
The eye of judgment o'er his labours cast;
Keen to discern the blemishes, that lurk
In the loose texture of his growing work;
Eager to praise, yet resolute to blame,
Kind to his verse, but kinder to his fame.
How may the Muse, who prosper'd by thy care,
Now meet the public eye without despair?
Now, if harsh censures on her failings pour,
Her warmest advocate can speak no more:
Cold are those lips, which breath'd the kind defence,
If spleen's proud cavil strain'd her tortur'd sense;
Which bade her song to public praise aspire,
And call'd attention to her trembling lyre.
Ah! could she now, thus petrified with grief,
Find in some lighter lay a vain relief,
Still must she deem such verse, if such could be,
A wound to friendship, and a crime to thee;
Profanely utter'd at this sacred time,
When thy pale corse demands her plaintive rhime,
And Virtue, weeping whom she could not save,
Calls the just mourner to thy recent grave.
Now meet the public eye without despair?
Now, if harsh censures on her failings pour,
Her warmest advocate can speak no more:
Cold are those lips, which breath'd the kind defence,
If spleen's proud cavil strain'd her tortur'd sense;
Which bade her song to public praise aspire,
And call'd attention to her trembling lyre.
Ah! could she now, thus petrified with grief,
Find in some lighter lay a vain relief,
Still must she deem such verse, if such could be,
A wound to friendship, and a crime to thee;
Profanely utter'd at this sacred time,
When thy pale corse demands her plaintive rhime,
And Virtue, weeping whom she could not save,
Calls the just mourner to thy recent grave.
113
Hail, hallow'd vault! whose darksome caverns hold
A frame, though mortal, of no common mould;
A heart scarce sullied with a human flaw,
Which shun'd no duty, and transgress'd no law;
In joy still guarded, in distress serene,
Thro' life a model of the golden mean,
Which Friendship only led him to transgress,
Whose heavenly spirit sanctifies excess.
A frame, though mortal, of no common mould;
A heart scarce sullied with a human flaw,
Which shun'd no duty, and transgress'd no law;
In joy still guarded, in distress serene,
Thro' life a model of the golden mean,
Which Friendship only led him to transgress,
Whose heavenly spirit sanctifies excess.
Pure mind! whose meekness, in thy mortal days,
Pursuing virtue, still retir'd from praise;
Nor wish'd that Friendship should on marble give
That perfect image of thy worth to live,
Which 'twas thy aim alone to leave imprest
On the close tablet of her faithful breast.
If now her verse against thy wish rebel,
And strive to blazon, what she lov'd so well,
Forgive the tender thought, the moral song,
Which would thy virtues to the world prolong;
That, rescued from the grave's oblivious shade,
Their useful lustre may be still survey'd,
Dear to the pensive eye of fond regret,
As light still beaming from a sun that's set.
Oft to our giddy Muse thy voice has taught
The just ambition of poetic thought;
Bid her bold view to latest time extend,
And strive to make futurity her friend.
If any verse, her little art can frame,
May win the partial voice of distant fame,
Be it the verse, whose fond ambition tries
To paint thy mind in truth's unfading dyes,
Tho' firm, yet tender, ardent, yet refin'd;
With Roman strength and Attic grace combin'd.
Pursuing virtue, still retir'd from praise;
Nor wish'd that Friendship should on marble give
That perfect image of thy worth to live,
Which 'twas thy aim alone to leave imprest
On the close tablet of her faithful breast.
If now her verse against thy wish rebel,
And strive to blazon, what she lov'd so well,
Forgive the tender thought, the moral song,
Which would thy virtues to the world prolong;
That, rescued from the grave's oblivious shade,
Their useful lustre may be still survey'd,
Dear to the pensive eye of fond regret,
As light still beaming from a sun that's set.
114
The just ambition of poetic thought;
Bid her bold view to latest time extend,
And strive to make futurity her friend.
If any verse, her little art can frame,
May win the partial voice of distant fame,
Be it the verse, whose fond ambition tries
To paint thy mind in truth's unfading dyes,
Tho' firm, yet tender, ardent, yet refin'd;
With Roman strength and Attic grace combin'd.
What tho' undeck'd with titles, power, and wealth,
Great were thy generous deeds, and done by stealth;
For thy pure bounty from observance stole,
Nor wish'd applause, but from thy conscious soul.
Tho' thy plain tomb no sculptur'd form may shew,
No boastful witness of suspected woe;
Yet heavenly shapes, that shun the glare of day,
To that dear spot shall nightly visits pay:
Pale Science there shall o'er her votary strew
Her flow'rs, yet moist with sorrow's recent dew:
There Charity, Compassion's lovely child,
In rustic notes pathetically wild,
With grateful blessings bid thy name endure,
And mourn the patron of her village-poor.
E'en from the midnight shew with music gay,
The soul of Beauty to thy tomb shall stray,
In sweet distraction steal from present mirth,
To sigh unnotic'd o'er the hallow'd earth,
Which hides those lips, that glow'd with tender fire,
And sung her praises to no common lyre:
But Friendship, wrapt in sorrow's deepest gloom,
Shall keep the longest vigils at thy tomb;
Her wounded breast, disdainful of relief,
There claims a fond præeminence in grief:
She, as the seasons of the year return,
Shall place thy fav'rite plants around thy urn,
Which, in the luxury of tender thought,
Her care shall raise, with plaintive emblems wrought,
Recalling ever, with remembrance sweet,
Thy kind attachment to her calm retreat.
Great were thy generous deeds, and done by stealth;
For thy pure bounty from observance stole,
Nor wish'd applause, but from thy conscious soul.
Tho' thy plain tomb no sculptur'd form may shew,
No boastful witness of suspected woe;
Yet heavenly shapes, that shun the glare of day,
To that dear spot shall nightly visits pay:
Pale Science there shall o'er her votary strew
Her flow'rs, yet moist with sorrow's recent dew:
There Charity, Compassion's lovely child,
In rustic notes pathetically wild,
115
And mourn the patron of her village-poor.
E'en from the midnight shew with music gay,
The soul of Beauty to thy tomb shall stray,
In sweet distraction steal from present mirth,
To sigh unnotic'd o'er the hallow'd earth,
Which hides those lips, that glow'd with tender fire,
And sung her praises to no common lyre:
But Friendship, wrapt in sorrow's deepest gloom,
Shall keep the longest vigils at thy tomb;
Her wounded breast, disdainful of relief,
There claims a fond præeminence in grief:
She, as the seasons of the year return,
Shall place thy fav'rite plants around thy urn,
Which, in the luxury of tender thought,
Her care shall raise, with plaintive emblems wrought,
Recalling ever, with remembrance sweet,
Thy kind attachment to her calm retreat.
Short was thy life, but ah! its thread how fine!
How pure the texture of the finish'd line!
What tho' thy opening manhood could not gain
Those late rewards, maturer toils attain;
Hope's firmest promises 'twas thine to raise,
That merit's brightest meed would grace thy lengthen'd days;
For thine were Judgment's patient powers, to draw
Entangled justice from the nets of law;
Thine firm Integrity, whose language clear
Ne'er swell'd with arrogance, or shook with fear.
Reason's mild power, unvex'd by mental strife,
Sway'd the calm current of thy useful life;
Whose even course was in no season lost,
Nor rough with storms, nor stagnated by frost.
In scenes of public toil, or social ease,
'Twas thine by firm sincerity to please;
Sweet as the breath of spring thy converse flow'd,
As summer's noon-tide warmth thy friendship glow'd.
O'er thy mild manners, by no art constrain'd,
A pensive, pleasing melancholy reign'd,
Which won regard, and charm'd th' attentive eye,
Like the soft lustre of an evening sky:
Yet if perchance excited to defend
The injur'd merit of an absent friend,
That gentle spirit, rous'd to virtuous ire,
Indignant flash'd resentment's noble fire.
How pure the texture of the finish'd line!
What tho' thy opening manhood could not gain
Those late rewards, maturer toils attain;
116
That merit's brightest meed would grace thy lengthen'd days;
For thine were Judgment's patient powers, to draw
Entangled justice from the nets of law;
Thine firm Integrity, whose language clear
Ne'er swell'd with arrogance, or shook with fear.
Reason's mild power, unvex'd by mental strife,
Sway'd the calm current of thy useful life;
Whose even course was in no season lost,
Nor rough with storms, nor stagnated by frost.
In scenes of public toil, or social ease,
'Twas thine by firm sincerity to please;
Sweet as the breath of spring thy converse flow'd,
As summer's noon-tide warmth thy friendship glow'd.
O'er thy mild manners, by no art constrain'd,
A pensive, pleasing melancholy reign'd,
Which won regard, and charm'd th' attentive eye,
Like the soft lustre of an evening sky:
Yet if perchance excited to defend
The injur'd merit of an absent friend,
117
Indignant flash'd resentment's noble fire.
Tho' just observance in thy life may trace
A lovely model of each moral grace,
Thy last of days the noblest lesson taught:
Severe instruction! and too dearly bought!
Whose force from memory never can depart,
But while it mends, must agonize the heart.
Tho' thy shrunk nerves were destin'd to sustain
Th' increasing horrors of slow-wasting pain;
Those spirit-quenching pangs, whose base controul
Clouds the clear temper, and exhausts the soul;
Yet in that hour, when Death asserts his claim,
And his strong summons shakes the conscious frame;
When weaker minds; by frantic fear o'erthrown,
Shrink in wild horror from the dread Unknown,
Thy firmer soul, with Christian strength renew'd,
Nor lost in languor, nor by pain subdued,
(While thy cold grasp the hand of Friendship prest,
And her vain aid in fault'ring accents blest)
With awe, but not as Superstition's slave,
Survey'd the gathering shadows of the grave;
And to thy God, in death, devoutly paid
That calm obedience which thy life display'd.
A lovely model of each moral grace,
Thy last of days the noblest lesson taught:
Severe instruction! and too dearly bought!
Whose force from memory never can depart,
But while it mends, must agonize the heart.
Tho' thy shrunk nerves were destin'd to sustain
Th' increasing horrors of slow-wasting pain;
Those spirit-quenching pangs, whose base controul
Clouds the clear temper, and exhausts the soul;
Yet in that hour, when Death asserts his claim,
And his strong summons shakes the conscious frame;
When weaker minds; by frantic fear o'erthrown,
Shrink in wild horror from the dread Unknown,
Thy firmer soul, with Christian strength renew'd,
Nor lost in languor, nor by pain subdued,
(While thy cold grasp the hand of Friendship prest,
And her vain aid in fault'ring accents blest)
With awe, but not as Superstition's slave,
Survey'd the gathering shadows of the grave;
118
That calm obedience which thy life display'd.
Thou friend! yet left me of the choicer few,
Whom grief's fond eyes with growing love review;
O thou! whom mutal sorrow will incline
To mix thy sympathetic sighs with mine;
Still be it ours to pay, with just regret,
At Friendship's facred shrine our common debt!
Tho' doom'd (so Heaven ordains) to see no more
The gentle Being, whom we both deplore;
Painting shall still, sweet soothing art! supply
A form so precious in Affection's eye.
Ah! little thought we, in that happier hour,
When our gay Muse rehears'd the Pencil's power;
To mourn that form in cold obstruction laid,
And see him only by the pencil's aid!
Blest be that pencil, every art be blest,
That stamps his image deeper on our breast!
Whom grief's fond eyes with growing love review;
O thou! whom mutal sorrow will incline
To mix thy sympathetic sighs with mine;
Still be it ours to pay, with just regret,
At Friendship's facred shrine our common debt!
Tho' doom'd (so Heaven ordains) to see no more
The gentle Being, whom we both deplore;
Painting shall still, sweet soothing art! supply
A form so precious in Affection's eye.
Ah! little thought we, in that happier hour,
When our gay Muse rehears'd the Pencil's power;
To mourn that form in cold obstruction laid,
And see him only by the pencil's aid!
Blest be that pencil, every art be blest,
That stamps his image deeper on our breast!
Oft let us loiter on his favourite hill,
Whose shades the sadly-pleasing thought instil;
Recount his kindness, as we fondly rove,
And meet his spirit in the lonely grove.
At evening's pensive hour, or opening day,
He yet shall seem the partner of our way.
Blest Spirit! still thro' Fancy's ear impart
The calm of virtue to the troubled heart!
Correct each sordid view, each vain desire,
And touch the mortal, with celestial fire!
So may we still, in this dark scene of earth,
Hold sweet communion with thy living worth;
And, while our purer thoughts thy merit scan,
Revere the Angel, as we lov'd the Man.
Whose shades the sadly-pleasing thought instil;
Recount his kindness, as we fondly rove,
And meet his spirit in the lonely grove.
119
He yet shall seem the partner of our way.
Blest Spirit! still thro' Fancy's ear impart
The calm of virtue to the troubled heart!
Correct each sordid view, each vain desire,
And touch the mortal, with celestial fire!
So may we still, in this dark scene of earth,
Hold sweet communion with thy living worth;
And, while our purer thoughts thy merit scan,
Revere the Angel, as we lov'd the Man.
121
ODE, INSCRIBED TO JOHN HOWARD, Esq. F.R.S.
AUTHOR OF “The State of English and Foreign Prisons.”
Πολεσιν ευσεβης πονος.
Euripides.
Euripides.
123
Fav'rite of Heaven, and friend of Earth!
Philanthropy, benignant Power!
Whose sons display no doubtful worth,
The pageant of the passing hour!
Teach me to paint, in deathless song,
Some darling from thy filial throng,
Whose deeds no party-rage inspire,
But fill th' agreeing world with one desire,
To echo his renown, responsive to my lyre!
Philanthropy, benignant Power!
Whose sons display no doubtful worth,
The pageant of the passing hour!
Teach me to paint, in deathless song,
Some darling from thy filial throng,
Whose deeds no party-rage inspire,
But fill th' agreeing world with one desire,
To echo his renown, responsive to my lyre!
Ah! whither lead'st thou?—whence that sigh?
What sound of woe my bosom jars?
Why pass, where Misery's hollow eye
Glares wildly thro' those gloomy bars?
Is Virtue sunk in these abodes,
Where keen Remorse the heart corrodes:
Where Guilt's base blood with frenzy boils,
And Blasphemy the mournful scene embroils?—
From this infernal gloom my shudd'ring soul recoils.
What sound of woe my bosom jars?
Why pass, where Misery's hollow eye
Glares wildly thro' those gloomy bars?
124
Where keen Remorse the heart corrodes:
Where Guilt's base blood with frenzy boils,
And Blasphemy the mournful scene embroils?—
From this infernal gloom my shudd'ring soul recoils.
But whence those sudden sacred beams?
Oppression drops his iron rod!
And all the bright'ning dungeon seems
To speak the presence of a God.
Philanthropy's descending ray
Diffuses unexpected day!
Loveliest of angels!—at her side
Her favourite votary stands;—her English pride,
Thro' Horror's mansions led by this celestial guide.
Oppression drops his iron rod!
And all the bright'ning dungeon seems
To speak the presence of a God.
Philanthropy's descending ray
Diffuses unexpected day!
Loveliest of angels!—at her side
Her favourite votary stands;—her English pride,
Thro' Horror's mansions led by this celestial guide.
Hail! generous Howard! tho' thou bear
A name which Glory's hand sublime
Has blazon'd oft, with guardian care,
In characters that fear not Time;
For thee she fondly spreads her wings;
For thee from Paradise she brings,
More verdant than her laurel bough,
Such wreaths of sacred Palm, as ne'er till now
The smiling Seraph twin'd around a mortal brow.
A name which Glory's hand sublime
Has blazon'd oft, with guardian care,
In characters that fear not Time;
For thee she fondly spreads her wings;
For thee from Paradise she brings,
More verdant than her laurel bough,
Such wreaths of sacred Palm, as ne'er till now
The smiling Seraph twin'd around a mortal brow.
125
That Hero's
praise shall ever bloom,
Who shielded our insulted coast;
And launch'd his lightning to consume
The proud Invader's routed host.
Brave perils rais'd his noble name:
But thou deriv'st thy matchless fame
From scenes, where deadlier danger dwells;
Where fierce Contagion, with affright, repels
Valor's adventr'ous step from her malignant cells.
Who shielded our insulted coast;
And launch'd his lightning to consume
The proud Invader's routed host.
Brave perils rais'd his noble name:
But thou deriv'st thy matchless fame
From scenes, where deadlier danger dwells;
Where fierce Contagion, with affright, repels
Valor's adventr'ous step from her malignant cells.
Where in the dungeon's loathsome shade,
The speechless Captive clanks his chain,
With heartless hope to raise that aid
His feeble cries have call'd in vain:
Thine eye his dumb complaint explores;
Thy voice his parting breath restores;
Thy cares his ghastly visage clear
From Death's chill dew, with many a clotted tear,
And to his thankful soul returning life endear.
The speechless Captive clanks his chain,
With heartless hope to raise that aid
His feeble cries have call'd in vain:
Thine eye his dumb complaint explores;
Thy voice his parting breath restores;
Thy cares his ghastly visage clear
From Death's chill dew, with many a clotted tear,
And to his thankful soul returning life endear.
What precious Drug, or stronger Charm,
Thy constant fortitude inspires
In scenes, whence, muttering her alarm,
Med'cine , with selfish dread, retires?
Nor Charm, nor Drug, dispel thy fears:
Temperance, thy better guard, appears:
For thee I see her fondly fill
Her crystal cup from Nature's purest rill;
Chief nourisher of life! best antidote of ill.
Thy constant fortitude inspires
In scenes, whence, muttering her alarm,
Med'cine , with selfish dread, retires?
126
Temperance, thy better guard, appears:
For thee I see her fondly fill
Her crystal cup from Nature's purest rill;
Chief nourisher of life! best antidote of ill.
I see the hallow'd shade of Hales
,
Who felt, like thee, for human woe,
And taught the health-diffusing gales
Thro' Horror's murky cells to blow,
As thy protecting angel wait;
To save thee from the snares of Fate,
Commission'd from the Eternal Throne:
I hear him praise, in wonder's warmest tone,
The virtues of thy heart, more active than his own.
Who felt, like thee, for human woe,
And taught the health-diffusing gales
Thro' Horror's murky cells to blow,
As thy protecting angel wait;
To save thee from the snares of Fate,
127
I hear him praise, in wonder's warmest tone,
The virtues of thy heart, more active than his own.
Thy foul supplies new funds of health,
That fail not, in the trying hour,
Above Arabia's spicy wealth
And Pharmacy's reviving power.
The transports of the generous mind,
Feeling its bounty to mankind,
Inspirit every mortal part;
And, far more potent than precarious art,
Give radiance to the eye, and vigor to the heart.
That fail not, in the trying hour,
Above Arabia's spicy wealth
And Pharmacy's reviving power.
The transports of the generous mind,
Feeling its bounty to mankind,
Inspirit every mortal part;
And, far more potent than precarious art,
Give radiance to the eye, and vigor to the heart.
Blest Howard! who like thee can feel
This vital spring in all its force?
New star of philanthropic zeal;
Enlight'ning nations in thy course!
And shedding Comfort's heavenly dew
On meagre Want's deserted crew!
Friend to the wretch, whom friends disclaim,
Who feels stern Justice, in his famish'd frame,
A persecuting fiend beneath an angel's name.
This vital spring in all its force?
New star of philanthropic zeal;
Enlight'ning nations in thy course!
And shedding Comfort's heavenly dew
On meagre Want's deserted crew!
Friend to the wretch, whom friends disclaim,
Who feels stern Justice, in his famish'd frame,
A persecuting fiend beneath an angel's name.
128
Authority! unfeeling power,
Whose iron heart can coldly doom
The Debtor, dragg'd from Pleasure's bower,
To sicken in the dungeon's gloom!
O might thy terror-striking call
Profusion's sons alone enthrall!
But thou canst Want with Guilt confound;
Thy bonds the Man of virtuous toil surround,
Driven by malicious Fate within thy dreary bound.
Whose iron heart can coldly doom
The Debtor, dragg'd from Pleasure's bower,
To sicken in the dungeon's gloom!
O might thy terror-striking call
Profusion's sons alone enthrall!
But thou canst Want with Guilt confound;
Thy bonds the Man of virtuous toil surround,
Driven by malicious Fate within thy dreary bound.
How savage are thy stern decrees!
Thy cruel minister I see
A weak, laborious victim seize,
By worth entitled to be free!
Behold, in the afflicting strife,
The faithful partner of his life,
In vain thy ruthless servant court,
To spare her little children's sole support,
Whom this terrific form has frighten'd from their sport.
Thy cruel minister I see
A weak, laborious victim seize,
By worth entitled to be free!
Behold, in the afflicting strife,
The faithful partner of his life,
In vain thy ruthless servant court,
To spare her little children's sole support,
Whom this terrific form has frighten'd from their sport.
Nor weeps she only from the thought,
Those infants must no longer share
His aid, whose daily labour bought
The pittance of their scanty fare.
The horrors of the loathsome jail
Her inly-bleeding heart assail:
E'en now her fears, from fondness bred,
See the lost partner of her faithful bed
Drop, in that murd'rous scene, his pale, expiring head.
Those infants must no longer share
His aid, whose daily labour bought
The pittance of their scanty fare.
129
Her inly-bleeding heart assail:
E'en now her fears, from fondness bred,
See the lost partner of her faithful bed
Drop, in that murd'rous scene, his pale, expiring head.
Take comfort yet in these keen pains,
Fond mourner! check thy gushing tears!
The dungeon now no more contains
Those perils which thy fancy fears:
No more Contagion's baleful breath
Speaks it the hideous cave of Death:
Howard has planted safety there;
Pure minister of light! his heavenly care
Has purg'd the damp of Death from that polluted air.
Fond mourner! check thy gushing tears!
The dungeon now no more contains
Those perils which thy fancy fears:
No more Contagion's baleful breath
Speaks it the hideous cave of Death:
Howard has planted safety there;
Pure minister of light! his heavenly care
Has purg'd the damp of Death from that polluted air.
Nature! on thy maternal breast
For ever be his worth engrav'd!
Thy bosom only can attest
How many a life his toil has sav'd:
Nor in thy rescued Sons alone,
Great Parent! this thy guardian own!
His arm defends a dearer slave;
Woman, thy darling! 'tis his pride to save
From evils, that surpass the horrors of the grave.
For ever be his worth engrav'd!
Thy bosom only can attest
How many a life his toil has sav'd:
130
Great Parent! this thy guardian own!
His arm defends a dearer slave;
Woman, thy darling! 'tis his pride to save
From evils, that surpass the horrors of the grave.
Ye sprightly nymphs, by Fortune nurst,
Who sport in Joy's unclouded air,
Nor see the distant storms, that burst
In ruin on the humble Fair;
Ye know not to what bitter smart
A kindred form, a kindred heart,
Is often doom'd, in life's low vale,
Where frantic fears the simple mind assail,
And fierce afflictions press, and friends and fortune fail.
Who sport in Joy's unclouded air,
Nor see the distant storms, that burst
In ruin on the humble Fair;
Ye know not to what bitter smart
A kindred form, a kindred heart,
Is often doom'd, in life's low vale,
Where frantic fears the simple mind assail,
And fierce afflictions press, and friends and fortune fail.
131
See yon' sweet rustic, drown'd in tears!
It is not Guilt—'tis Misery's flood,
While dire Suspicion's charge she hears
Of shedding infant, filial blood:
Nature's fond dupe! but not her foe!
That form, that face, the falshood show:—
Yet Law exacts her stern demand;
She bids the dungeon's grating doors expand,
And the young captive faints beneath the gaoler's hand.
It is not Guilt—'tis Misery's flood,
While dire Suspicion's charge she hears
Of shedding infant, filial blood:
Nature's fond dupe! but not her foe!
That form, that face, the falshood show:—
Yet Law exacts her stern demand;
She bids the dungeon's grating doors expand,
And the young captive faints beneath the gaoler's hand.
Ah, ruffian! cease thy savage aim!
She cannot 'scape thy harsh controul:
Shall iron load that tender frame,
And enter that too-yielding soul?—
Unfeeling wretch! of basest mind!
To misery deaf, to beauty blind!
I see thy victim vainly plead;
For the worst fiend of hell's malignant breed,
Extortion, grins applause, and prompts thy ruthless deed.
She cannot 'scape thy harsh controul:
Shall iron load that tender frame,
And enter that too-yielding soul?—
Unfeeling wretch! of basest mind!
To misery deaf, to beauty blind!
I see thy victim vainly plead;
For the worst fiend of hell's malignant breed,
Extortion, grins applause, and prompts thy ruthless deed.
132
With brutal force, and ribald jest,
Thy manacles I see thee shake;
Mocking the merciful request,
That Modesty and Justice make;
E'en Nature's shriek, with anguish strong,
Fails to suspend the impious wrong;
Till Howard's hand, with brave disdain,
Throws far away this execrable chain:
O Nature, spread his fame thro' all thy ample reign!
Thy manacles I see thee shake;
Mocking the merciful request,
That Modesty and Justice make;
E'en Nature's shriek, with anguish strong,
Fails to suspend the impious wrong;
Till Howard's hand, with brave disdain,
Throws far away this execrable chain:
O Nature, spread his fame thro' all thy ample reign!
His care exulting Britain found,
Here first display'd, not here confin'd!
No single tract of earth could bound
The active virtues of his mind.
To all the lands, where'er the tear,
That mourn'd the Prisoner's wrongs severe,
Sad Pity's glist'ning cheek impearl'd,
Eager he steer'd, with every sail unfurl'd,
A friend to every clime! a Patriot of the World!
Here first display'd, not here confin'd!
No single tract of earth could bound
The active virtues of his mind.
To all the lands, where'er the tear,
That mourn'd the Prisoner's wrongs severe,
Sad Pity's glist'ning cheek impearl'd,
Eager he steer'd, with every sail unfurl'd,
A friend to every clime! a Patriot of the World!
133
Ye nations thro' whose fair domain
Our flying sons of joy have past,
By Pleasure driven with loosen'd rein,
Astonish'd that they flew so fast!
How did the heart-improving sight
Awake your wonder and delight,
When, in her unexampled chace,
Philanthropy outstript keen Pleasure's pace,
When with a warmer soul she ran a nobler race!
Our flying sons of joy have past,
By Pleasure driven with loosen'd rein,
Astonish'd that they flew so fast!
How did the heart-improving sight
Awake your wonder and delight,
When, in her unexampled chace,
Philanthropy outstript keen Pleasure's pace,
When with a warmer soul she ran a nobler race!
Where e'er her generous Briton went,
Princes his supplicants became:
He seem'd the enquiring angel, sent
To scrutinize their secret shame
Captivity, where he appear'd,
Her languid head with transport rear'd;
And gazing on her godlike guest,
Like those of old, whom Heaven's pure servant blest,
E'en by his shadow seem'd of demons dispossest.
Princes his supplicants became:
He seem'd the enquiring angel, sent
To scrutinize their secret shame
Captivity, where he appear'd,
Her languid head with transport rear'd;
And gazing on her godlike guest,
Like those of old, whom Heaven's pure servant blest,
E'en by his shadow seem'd of demons dispossest.
134
Amaz'd her foreign children cry,
Seeing their patron pass along:
“O! who is he, whose daring eye
Can search into our hidden wrong?
What monarch's Heaven-directed mind,
With royal bounty unconfin'd,
Has tempted Freedom's son to share
These perils; searching with an angel's care
Each cell of dire Disease, each cavern of Despair?”
Seeing their patron pass along:
“O! who is he, whose daring eye
Can search into our hidden wrong?
What monarch's Heaven-directed mind,
With royal bounty unconfin'd,
Has tempted Freedom's son to share
These perils; searching with an angel's care
Each cell of dire Disease, each cavern of Despair?”
No monarch's word, nor lucre's lust,
Nor vain ambition's restless fire,
Nor ample power, that sacred trust!
His life-diffusing toils inspire:
Rous'd by no voice, save that whose cries
Internal bid the soul arise
From joys, that only seem to bless,
From low pursuits, which little minds possess,
To Nature's noblest aim, the Succour of Distress!
Nor vain ambition's restless fire,
Nor ample power, that sacred trust!
His life-diffusing toils inspire:
Rous'd by no voice, save that whose cries
Internal bid the soul arise
From joys, that only seem to bless,
From low pursuits, which little minds possess,
To Nature's noblest aim, the Succour of Distress!
135
Taught by that God, in Mercy's robe,
Who his celestial throne resign'd,
To free the prison of the globe
From vice, th' oppressor of the mind!
For thee, of misery's rights bereft,
For thee, Captivity! he left
Inviting Ease, who, in her bower,
Bade him with smiles enjoy the golden hour,
While Fortune deck'd his board with Pleasure's festive flower.
Who his celestial throne resign'd,
To free the prison of the globe
From vice, th' oppressor of the mind!
For thee, of misery's rights bereft,
For thee, Captivity! he left
Inviting Ease, who, in her bower,
Bade him with smiles enjoy the golden hour,
While Fortune deck'd his board with Pleasure's festive flower.
While to thy virtue's utmost scope
I boldly strive my aim to raise,
As high as mortal hand may hope
To shoot the glittering shaft of Praise;
Say! Howard, say! what may the Muse,
Whose melting eye thy merit views,
What guerdon may her love design?
What may she ask for thee, from Power Divine,
Above the rich rewards which are already thine?
I boldly strive my aim to raise,
As high as mortal hand may hope
To shoot the glittering shaft of Praise;
Say! Howard, say! what may the Muse,
Whose melting eye thy merit views,
136
What may she ask for thee, from Power Divine,
Above the rich rewards which are already thine?
Sweet is the joy when Science flings
Her light on philosophic thought;
When Genius, with keen ardour, springs
To clasp the lovely truth he sought:
Sweet is the joy, when Rapture's fire
Flows from the spirit of the lyre;
When Liberty and Virtue roll
Spring-tides of fancy o'er the poet's soul,
That waft his flying bark thro' seas above the pole.
Her light on philosophic thought;
When Genius, with keen ardour, springs
To clasp the lovely truth he sought:
Sweet is the joy, when Rapture's fire
Flows from the spirit of the lyre;
When Liberty and Virtue roll
Spring-tides of fancy o'er the poet's soul,
That waft his flying bark thro' seas above the pole.
Sweet the delight, when the gall'd heart
Feels Consolation's lenient hand
Bind up the wound from Fortune's dart
With Friendship's life-supporting band!
And sweeter still, and far above
These fainter joys, when purest Love
The soul his willing captive keeps!
When he in bliss the melting spirit steeps,
Who drops delicious tears, and wonders that he weeps!
Feels Consolation's lenient hand
Bind up the wound from Fortune's dart
With Friendship's life-supporting band!
And sweeter still, and far above
These fainter joys, when purest Love
The soul his willing captive keeps!
When he in bliss the melting spirit steeps,
Who drops delicious tears, and wonders that he weeps!
137
But not the brightest joy, which Arts,
In floods of mental light, bestow;
Nor what firm Friendship's zeal imparts,
Blest antidote of bitterest woe!
Nor those that Love's sweet hours dispense,
Can equal the ecstatic sense,
When, swelling to a fond excess,
The grateful praises of reliev'd distress,
Re-echoed thro' the heart, the soul of Bounty bless.
In floods of mental light, bestow;
Nor what firm Friendship's zeal imparts,
Blest antidote of bitterest woe!
Nor those that Love's sweet hours dispense,
Can equal the ecstatic sense,
When, swelling to a fond excess,
The grateful praises of reliev'd distress,
Re-echoed thro' the heart, the soul of Bounty bless.
These transports, in no common state,
Supremely pure, sublimely strong,
Above the reach of envious fate,
Blest Howard! these to thee belong:
While years encreasing o'er thee roll,
Long may this sunshine of the soul
New vigour to thy frame convey!
Its radiance thro' thy noon of life display,
And with serenest light adorn thy closing day!
Supremely pure, sublimely strong,
Above the reach of envious fate,
Blest Howard! these to thee belong:
While years encreasing o'er thee roll,
Long may this sunshine of the soul
New vigour to thy frame convey!
Its radiance thro' thy noon of life display,
And with serenest light adorn thy closing day!
138
And when the Power, who joys to save,
Proclaims the guilt of earth forgiven;
And calls the prisoners of the grave
To all the liberty of Heaven:
In that bright day, whose wonders blind
The eye of the astonish'd mind;
When life's glad angel shall resume
His ancient sway, announce to Death his doom,
And from existence drive that tyrant of the tomb:
Proclaims the guilt of earth forgiven;
And calls the prisoners of the grave
To all the liberty of Heaven:
In that bright day, whose wonders blind
The eye of the astonish'd mind;
When life's glad angel shall resume
His ancient sway, announce to Death his doom,
And from existence drive that tyrant of the tomb:
In that blest hour, when Seraphs sing
The triumphs gain'd in human strife;
And to their new associates bring
The wreaths of everlasting life:
May'st thou, in Glory's hallow'd blaze,
Approach th' Eternal Fount of Praise,
With those who lead th' angelic van,
Those pure adherents to their Saviour's plan,
Who liv'd but to relieve the miseries of man!
The triumphs gain'd in human strife;
And to their new associates bring
The wreaths of everlasting life:
May'st thou, in Glory's hallow'd blaze,
Approach th' Eternal Fount of Praise,
With those who lead th' angelic van,
Those pure adherents to their Saviour's plan,
Who liv'd but to relieve the miseries of man!
Stephen Hales, minister of Teddington: he died at the age of 84, 1761; and has been justly called “An “ ornament to his profession, as a clergyman, and to his country, as “a philosopher.” I had the happiness of knowing this excellent man, when I was very young; and well remember the warm glow of benevolence which used to animate his countenance, in relating the success of his various projects for the benefit of mankind. I have frequently heard him dwell with great pleasure on the fortunate incident which led him to the discovery of his Ventilator, to which I have alluded.—He had ordered a new floor for one of his rooms; his carpenter not having prepared the work so soon as he expected, he thought the season improper for laying down new boards, when they were brought to his house, and gave orders for their being deposited in his barn;—from their accidental position in that place, he caught his first idea of this useful invention.
Mr. Howard has been the happy instrument of preserving female prisoners from an infamous and indecent outrage.—It was formerly a custom in our gaols to load their legs and thighs with irons, for the detestable purpose of extorting money from these injured sufferers.—This circumstance, unknown to me when the Ode was written, has tempted me to introduce the few additional stanzas, as it is my ardent wish to render this tribute to an exalted character as little unworthy as I can of the very extensive and sublime merit which it aspires to celebrate.
I am credibly informed that several Princes, or at least persons in authority, requested Mr. Howard not to publish a minute account of some prisons, which reflected disgrace on their government.
------ανδρα δ' εγω κεινον
Αινησαι μενοινων, ελπομαι
Μη χαλκοπαραον ακονθ' ωσει τ' αγω-
νος βαλειν εξω παλαμα δονεων.
PINDAR.
Αινησαι μενοινων, ελπομαι
Μη χαλκοπαραον ακονθ' ωσει τ' αγω-
νος βαλειν εξω παλαμα δονεων.
139
ODE TO Mr. WRIGHT of DERBY.
141
1783.
Away! ye sweet, but trivial Forms,
That from the placid pencil rise,
When playful art the landscape warms
With Italy's unclouded skies!
Stay, Vanity! nor yet demand
Thy portrait from the painter's hand!
Nor ask thou, Indolence, to aid thy dream,
The soft illusion of the mimic stream,
That twinkles to thy sight with Cynthia's trembling beam!
That from the placid pencil rise,
When playful art the landscape warms
With Italy's unclouded skies!
Stay, Vanity! nor yet demand
Thy portrait from the painter's hand!
Nor ask thou, Indolence, to aid thy dream,
The soft illusion of the mimic stream,
That twinkles to thy sight with Cynthia's trembling beam!
142
Be thine, my friend, a nobler task!
Beside thy vacant easel see
Guests, who, with claims superior, ask
New miracles of art from thee:
Valour, who mocks unequal strife,
And Clemency, whose smile is life!
“Wright! let thy skill (this radiant pair exclaim)
“Give to our view our favorite scene of Fame,
“Where Britain's Genius blaz'd in glory's brightest “flame.”
Beside thy vacant easel see
Guests, who, with claims superior, ask
New miracles of art from thee:
Valour, who mocks unequal strife,
And Clemency, whose smile is life!
“Wright! let thy skill (this radiant pair exclaim)
“Give to our view our favorite scene of Fame,
“Where Britain's Genius blaz'd in glory's brightest “flame.”
Celestial ministers! ye speak
To no dull agent sloth opprest,
Who coldly hears, in spirit weak,
Heroic Virtue's high behest:
Behold! tho' envy strives to foil
The Artist bent on public toil,
Behold! his flames terrific lustre shed;
His naval blaze mounts from its billowy bed;
And Calpe proudly rears her war-illumin'd head.
To no dull agent sloth opprest,
Who coldly hears, in spirit weak,
Heroic Virtue's high behest:
Behold! tho' envy strives to foil
The Artist bent on public toil,
Behold! his flames terrific lustre shed;
His naval blaze mounts from its billowy bed;
And Calpe proudly rears her war-illumin'd head.
143
In gorgeous pomp for ever shine,
Bright monument of Britain's force!
Tho' doom'd to feel her fame decline
In ill-starr'd war's o'erwhelming course,
Tho' Europe's envious realms unite
To crush her, in unequal fight,
Her Genius, deeply stung with generous shame,
On this exulting rock array'd in flame
Equals her ancient feats, and vindicates her name.
Bright monument of Britain's force!
Tho' doom'd to feel her fame decline
In ill-starr'd war's o'erwhelming course,
Tho' Europe's envious realms unite
To crush her, in unequal fight,
Her Genius, deeply stung with generous shame,
On this exulting rock array'd in flame
Equals her ancient feats, and vindicates her name.
How fiercely British valour pours
The deluge of destroying fire,
Which o'er that watery Babel roars,
Bidding the baffled host retire,
And leave their fall'n, to yield their breath
In different pangs of double death!
Ye shall not perish: no! ye hapless brave,
Reckless of peril, thro' the fiery wave
See! British mercy steers, each prostrate foe to save.
The deluge of destroying fire,
Which o'er that watery Babel roars,
Bidding the baffled host retire,
And leave their fall'n, to yield their breath
In different pangs of double death!
Ye shall not perish: no! ye hapless brave,
Reckless of peril, thro' the fiery wave
See! British mercy steers, each prostrate foe to save.
144
Ye gallant Chiefs, whose deeds proclaim
The genuine hero's feeling soul,
Elliot, and Curtis, with whose name
Honour enrich'd his radiant roll,
Blest is your fate; nor blest alone,
That rescued foes your virtues own,
That Britain triumphs in your filial worth:
Blest in the period of your glory's birth,
When art can bid it live to decorate the earth!
The genuine hero's feeling soul,
Elliot, and Curtis, with whose name
Honour enrich'd his radiant roll,
Blest is your fate; nor blest alone,
That rescued foes your virtues own,
That Britain triumphs in your filial worth:
Blest in the period of your glory's birth,
When art can bid it live to decorate the earth!
Alas! what deeds, where virtue reign'd,
Have in oblivious darkness died,
When Painting, by the Goths enchain'd,
No life-securing tints supplied!—
Of all thy powers, enchanting art!
Thou deemest this the dearest part,
To guard the rights of valour, and afford
Surviving lustre to the hero's sword:
For this, heroic Greece thy martial charms ador'd.
Have in oblivious darkness died,
When Painting, by the Goths enchain'd,
No life-securing tints supplied!—
Of all thy powers, enchanting art!
Thou deemest this the dearest part,
To guard the rights of valour, and afford
Surviving lustre to the hero's sword:
For this, heroic Greece thy martial charms ador'd.
145
Rival of Greece, in arms, in arts,
Tho' deem'd in her declining days,
Britain yet boasts unnumber'd hearts,
Who keenly pant for public praise:
Her battles yet are firmly fought
By Chiefs with Spartan courage fraught:
Her Painters with Athenian zeal unite
To trace the glories of the prosp'rous fight,
And gild th' embattled scene with art's immortal light.
Tho' deem'd in her declining days,
Britain yet boasts unnumber'd hearts,
Who keenly pant for public praise:
Her battles yet are firmly fought
By Chiefs with Spartan courage fraught:
Her Painters with Athenian zeal unite
To trace the glories of the prosp'rous fight,
And gild th' embattled scene with art's immortal light.
Tho' many a hand may well portray
The rushing war's infuriate shock,
Proud Calpe bids thee, Wright! display
The terrors of her blazing rock;
The burning bulks of baffled Spain,
From thee she claims, nor claims in vain,
Thou mighty master of the mimic flame,
Whose matchless pencil, with peculiar aim,
Has form'd of lasting fire the basis of thy fame.
The rushing war's infuriate shock,
Proud Calpe bids thee, Wright! display
The terrors of her blazing rock;
The burning bulks of baffled Spain,
From thee she claims, nor claims in vain,
Thou mighty master of the mimic flame,
Whose matchless pencil, with peculiar aim,
Has form'd of lasting fire the basis of thy fame.
146
Just in thy praise, thy country's voice
Loudly asserts thy signal power:
In this reward may'st thou rejoice,
In modest labour's silent hour,
Far from those seats, where envious leagues,
And dark cabals, and base intrigues
Exclude meek Merit from his proper home;
Where Art, whom Royalty forbade to roam,
Against thy talents clos'd her self-dishonor'd dome!
Loudly asserts thy signal power:
In this reward may'st thou rejoice,
In modest labour's silent hour,
Far from those seats, where envious leagues,
And dark cabals, and base intrigues
Exclude meek Merit from his proper home;
Where Art, whom Royalty forbade to roam,
Against thy talents clos'd her self-dishonor'd dome!
When partial pride, and mean neglect,
The nerves of injur'd Genius gall,
What kindly spells of keen effect
His energy of heart recall?
Perchance there is no spell so strong
As Friendship's sympathetic song:
By fancy link'd in a fraternal band,
Artist and Bard in sweet alliance stand;
They suffer equal wounds, and mutual aid demand.
The nerves of injur'd Genius gall,
What kindly spells of keen effect
His energy of heart recall?
Perchance there is no spell so strong
As Friendship's sympathetic song:
By fancy link'd in a fraternal band,
Artist and Bard in sweet alliance stand;
They suffer equal wounds, and mutual aid demand.
147
Go, then, to slighted worth devote
Thy willing verse, my fearless Muse!
Haply thy free and friendly note
Some joyous ardor may infuse
In fibres, that severely smart
From potent Envy's poison'd dart:
Thro' Wright's warm breast bid tides of vigor roll,
Guard him from meek Depression's chill controul,
And rouse him to exert each sinew of his soul!
Thy willing verse, my fearless Muse!
Haply thy free and friendly note
Some joyous ardor may infuse
In fibres, that severely smart
From potent Envy's poison'd dart:
Thro' Wright's warm breast bid tides of vigor roll,
Guard him from meek Depression's chill controul,
And rouse him to exert each sinew of his soul!
149
ODE TO THE COUNTESS DE GENLIS.
1784.
151
I
No more let English pride arraignThe Gallic Muse, as light and vain,
Whose trifling fingers can but weave
The flimsy novel, to deceive
Inaction's languid hour;
Where sentiment, from nothing spun,
Shines like a garden-cobweb in the sun,
Thrown in autumnal nights o'er many a wither'd flower.
152
II
Too often, in the giddy fitOf wanton or satiric wit,
The rash and frolic sons of France
Have sketch'd the frivolous romance;
While reason stood aloof;
While modesty the work disclaim'd;
And griev'd religion, with disdain inflam'd,
On the licentious page pronounc'd her just reproof.
III
The Genius of the generous landSurvey'd the vain fantastic band,
And kindling with indignant pride,
Athirst for genuine glory, cried:
“Too long have ye disgrac'd
“The Gallic name!—ye sophists, hence!
“A female hand shall expiate your offence,
“The wrongs that ye have done to virtue, truth, and “taste.
153
IV
“Rise, my Genlis! those ills correct,“That spring from this pernicious sect:
“To infancy's important years,
“That season of parental fears,
“Devote thy varied page!
“Mould and defend the youthful heart
“Against the subtle, soul-debasing art
“Of the sarcastic wit, and self-intitled sage!”
V
Illumin'd with angelic zeal,And wishing Nature's general weal,
The lovely moralist arose:
The flame that from religion flows
Play'd round her pensive head:
The tender virtues smiling strove
T' enrich the variegated web she wove,
Where wisdom's temperate hand the flowers of fancy spread.
154
VI
The sisters of theatric power,Whose intermingled sun and shower
Give to the stage, in friendly strife,
Each touching charm of chequer'd life,
Inspir'd the friend of youth:
Arts yet unknown to her they taught,
To fix and charm quick childhood's rambling thought
With unexampled scenes of tenderness and truth.
VII
Her pathos is not proudly builtOn splendid or impassion'd guilt;
The little incidents, that rise
As sportive youth's light season flies,
Her simple drama fill;
Yet he, the sweet Socratic sage ,
Who steep'd in tears the wide Athenian stage,
Fram'd not his moral scene with more pathetic skill.
155
VIII
In the rich novel's ampler fieldHer genius rears a radiant shield,
With fancy's blazonry imprest;
Potent to save the youthful breast
From passion's poison'd dart:
Like that which Homer's gods produce,
Its high-wrought beauties shine with double use,
To charm the curious mind, and guard th' unwary heart.
IX
Ye Fairies! 'twas your boast to bindIn sweet amaze the infant mind:
But scorning fiction's faded flower,
Behold Genlis in magic power
Your sorcery excells!
She, first of childhood's pleasing friends!
Arm'd with the force that liberal science lends,
From art and nature frames her more attractive spells .
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X
Lovely magician! in returnFor the sweet tears of fond concern,
With moral pleasure's tender thrill
Awak'd by thy enchanting skill,
Accept this votive rhyme!
Spurn not a wreath of foreign hue,
Tho' rudely twin'd of humble flowers, that grew
In a sequester'd vale of Albion's wayward clime!
XI
Think, if from Britain's churlish skyThis verse to foreign genius fly,
Think not our letter'd females raise
No titles to melodious praise:—
Keen science cannot find
One clime within the earth's wide zone,
Whose daughters, Britain! have surpass'd thy own
In the career of art, the triumphs of the mind.
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XII
This honest boast of English pride,Which meaner merit might deride,
Will ne'er the just Genlis beguile
Of one disdainful, envious smile;
For envy ne'er conceal'd
From her clear sight a rival's claim;
Her voice has swell'd my fair compatriots fame,
Pleas'd with their glorious march o'er learning's varied field!
XIII
Doubly, Genlis! may'st thou rejoice,Whene'er impartial glory's voice
Ranks with the happiest toils of men
The graceful works of woman's pen,
Tho' not of Gallic frame:
For O! beneath whatever skies
Records of female genius may arise,
Those records must enfold thy fair and fav'rite name.
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XIV
In every clime where arts have smil'd,Where'er the mother loves her child,
And pants, with anxious zeal possest,
To fortify the tender breast,
And the young mind enlarge,
From thy chaste page she'll learn the art,
Fondly to play the sage preceptor's part,
And draw her dearest joys from that important charge:
XV
Wherever youth, with curious view,Instructive pleasure shall pursue,
The little lively student there,
With rapt attention's keenest air,
Shall o'er thy volumes bend:
And while his tears their charm confess,
His grateful voice shall in their author bless
The spirit-kindling guide, the heart-enchanting friend.
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